THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 


©0175 

T5S 

o-Eew 


The  person  charging  this  material  is  re- 
sponsible for  its  return  to  the  library  from 
which  it  was  withdrawn  on  or  before  the 
Latest  Date  stamped  below. 

Theft,  mutilation,  and  underlining  of  books 
are  reasons  for  disciplinary  action  and  may 
result  in  dismissal  from  the  University. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS  LIBRARY  AT  URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 


MARI 


7 1973 


fEB  27  ISKi 

FEB  12 


1986 


L161  — 0-1096 


The  Complete  Works  op 

COUNT  TOLSTOY 


Volume  11. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/landedproprietorOOtols 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 

UWIV-n-  ITY  v f 


ilHuatratriJ  (Eabtnrt  lEbttion 


A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 
THE  COSSACKS 
SEVASTOPOL 


By 

Count  Lev  N.  Tolstoy 


Translated  from  the  Original  Russian  and  edited  by 

Leo  Wiener 

Jlssistant  Professor  of  Slavic  Languages  at 
Harvard  University 


Boston 

Dana  Estes  & Company 

Publisher* 


CS3\'T? 

OXEw 


CONTENTS 


rAtfB 

A Morning  of  a Landed  Proprietor  . « . 1 

The  Cossacks:  A Novel  of  the  Caucasus  . • 79 

Sevastopol . • 309 

The  Cutting  of  the  Forest  • ® . • 475 


V) 

«Y 

V) 

V. 


v3 


V 

O 

%4 

Vi 


910320 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Cossack  Troops  Quartered  on  a Village  . 
From  Painting  by  Edouard  Detaille. 

Portrait  of  Tolstoy  as  an  Officer  in  1857 

From  Photograph . 

Plan  of  Sevastopol  (Bird’s-eye  view) 
Photogravure  from  Steel  Engraving. 

Night  Attack  on  the  Trenches  . . # 

Photogravure  from  Steel  Engraving. 


PAGE 

Frontispiece 
. 200 
. . 314 

. . 367 


Tolstoy,  Voi.  II, 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED 
PROPRIETOR 

1852 


f 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED 
PROPRIETOR 


Fragment  from  an  Unfinished  Novel,  <c  A Russian 
Proprietor  ” 


L 

Prince  Nekhlyudov  was  nineteen  years  old  when  he 
came  from  the  Third  Course  of  the  university  to  pass  his 
vacation  on  his  estate,  and  remained  there  by  himself  all 
summer.  In  the  autumn  he  wrote  in  his  unformed  child- 
ish hand  to  his  aunt,  Countess  Byelory^tski,  who,  in  his 
opinion,  was  his  best  friend  and  the  most  brilliant  woman 
in  the  world.  The  letter  was  in  French,  and  ran  as 
follows : 

“ Dear  Aunty  : — I have  made  a resolution  on  which 
the  fate  of  my  whole  life  must  depend.  I will  leave  the 
university  in  order  to  devote  myself  to  country  life,  be- 
cause I feel  that  I was  born  for  it.  For  God's  sake,  dear 
aunty,  do  not  laugh  at  me ! You  will  say  that  I am 
young ; and,  indeed,  I may  still  be  a child,  but  this  does 
not  prevent  me  from  feeling  what  my  calling  is,  and  from 
wishing  to  do  good,  and  loving  it. 

“ As  I have  written  you  before,  I found  affairs  in  an 
indescribable  disorder.  Wishing  to  straighten  them  out, 
and  to  understand  them,  I discovered  that  the  main  evil 

3 


4 A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PEOPKIETOR 


lay  in  the  most  pitiable,  poverty-stricken  condition  of  the 
peasants,  and  that  the  evil  was  such  that  it  could  be 
mended  by  labour  and  patience  alone.  If  you  could  only 
see  two  of  my  peasants,  Dav^d  and  Ivan,  and  the  lives 
which  they  lead  with  their  families,  I am  sure  that  the 
mere  sight  of  these  unfortunates  would  convince  you  more 
than  all  I might  say  to  explain  my  intention  to  you. 

“ Is  it  not  my  sacred  and  direct  duty  to  care  for  the 
welfare  of  these  seven  hundred  men,  for  whom  I shall  be 
held  responsible  before  God  ? Is  it  not  a sin  to  abandon 
them  to  the  arbitrariness  of  rude  elders  and  managers, 
for  plans  of  enjoyment  and  ambition  ? And  why  should 
I look  in  another  sphere  for  opportunities  of  being  useful 
and  doing  good,  when  such  a noble,  brilliant,  and  im- 
mediate duty  is  open  to  me  ? 

“ I feel  myself  capable  of  being  a good  landed  propri- 
etor ; and,  in  order  to  be  one,  as  I understand  this  word, 
one  needs  neither  a university  diploma,  nor  ranks,  which 
you  are  so  anxious  I should  obtain.  Dear  aunty,  make 
no  ambitious  plans  for  me!  Accustom  yourself  to  the 
thought  that  I have  chosen  an  entirely  different  path, 
which  is,  nevertheless,  good,  and  which,  I feel,  will  bring 
me  happiness.  I have  thought  much,  very  much,  about 
my  future  duty,  have  written  out  rules  for  my  actions, 
and,  if  God  will  only  grant  me  life  and  strength,  shall 
succeed  in  my  undertaking. 

“Do  not  show  this  letter  to  my  brother  Vasya.  I am 
afraid  of  his  ridicule ; he  is  in  the  habit  of  directing  me, 
and  I of  submitting  to  him.  Vanya  will  understand  my 
intention,  even  though  he  may  not  approve  of  it.” 

The  countess  answered  with  the  following  French 
letter  • 

“Your  letter,  dear  Dmitri,  proved  nothing  to  me, 
except  that  you  have  a beautiful  soul,  which  fact  I have 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  5 

never  doubted.  But,  dear  friend,  our  good  qualities  do 
us  more  harm  in  life  than  our  bad  ones.  I will  not  tell 
you  that  you  are  committing  a folly,  and  that  your  con- 
duct mortifies  me ; I will  try  to  influence  you  by  argu- 
ments alone.  Let  us  reason,  my  friend.  You  say  that 
you  feel  a calling  for  country  life,  that  you  wish  to  make 
your  peasants  happy,  and  that  you  hope  to  be  a good  pro- 
prietor. (1)  I must  tell  you  that  we  feel  a calling  only 
after  we  have  made  a mistake  in  it ; (2)  that  it  is  easier 
to  make  yourself  happy  than  others ; and  (3)  that  in 
order  to  be  a good  proprietor,  one  must  be  a cold  and 
severe  man,  which  you  will  scarcely  be,  however  much 
you  may  try  to  dissemble. 

“ You  consider  your  reflections  incontrovertible,  and 
even  accept  them  as  rules  of  conduct ; but  at  my  age,  my 
dear,  we  do  not  believe  in  reflections  and  rules,  but  only 
in  experience ; and  experience  tells  me  that  your  plans 
are  childish.  I am  not  far  from  fifty,  and  I have  known 
many  worthy  people,  but  I have  never  heard  of  a young 
man  of  good  family  and  of  ability  burying  himself  in  the 
country,  for  the  sake  of  doing  good.  You  always  wished 
to  appear  original,  but  your  originality  is  nothing  but 
superfluous  self-love.  And,  my  dear,  you  had  better 
choose  well-trodden  paths ! They  lead  more  easily  to 
success,  and  success,  though  you  may  not  need  it  as  suc- 
cess, is  necessary  in  order  to  have  the  possibility  of  doing 
the  good  which  you  wish. 

“ The  poverty  of  a few  peasants  is  a necessary  evil,  or 
an  evil  which  may  be  remedied  without  forgetting  all 
your  obligations  to  society,  to  your  relatives,  and  to  your- 
self. With  your  intellect,  with  your  heart  and  love  of 
virtue,  there  is  not  a career  in  which  you  would  not 
obtain  success ; but  at  least  choose  one  which  would  be 
worthy  of  you  and  would  do  you  honour. 

“ I believe  in  your  sincerity,  when  you  say  that  you 
have  no  ambition ; but  you  are  deceiving  yourself.  Am- 


6 A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


bition  is  a virtue  at  your  years  and  with  your  means ; 
but  it  becomes  a defect  and  a vulgarity,  when  a man  is 
no  longer  able  to  satisfy  that  passion.  You,  too,  will 
experience  it,  if  you  will  not  be  false  to  your  intention. 
Good-bye,  dear  Mitya ! It  seems  to  me  that  I love  you 
even  more  for  your  insipid,  but  noble  and  magnanimous, 
plan.  Do  as  you  think  best,  but  I confess  I cannot 
agree  with  you.” 

Having  received  this  letter,  the  young  man  long  medi- 
tated over  it ; finally,  having  decided  that  even  a brilliant 
woman  may  make  mistakes,  he  petitioned  for  a discharge 
from  the  university,  and  for  ever  remained  in  the  country. 


/ 


II 

The  young  proprietor,  as  he  wrote  to  his  aunt,  had 
formed  rules  of  action  for  his  estate,  and  all  his  life  and 
occupations  were  scheduled  by  hours,  days,  and  months. 
Sunday  was  appointed  for  the  reception  of  petitioners, 
domestic  and  manorial  serfs,  for  the  inspection  of  the 
farms  of  the  needy  peasants,  and  for  the  distribution  of 
supplies  with  the  consent  of  the  Commune,  which  met 
every  Sunday  evening,  and  was  to  decide  what  aid  each 
was  to  receive.  More  than  a year  passed  in  these  occu- 
pations, and  the  young  man  was  not  entirely  a novice, 
either  in  the  practical  or  in  the  theoretical  knowledge 
of  farming. 

It  was  a clear  June  Sunday  when  Nekhlyudov,  after 
drinking  his  coffee,  and  running  through  a chapter  of 
“ Maison  Rustique,”  with  a note-book  and  a package  of 
bills  in  the  pocket  of  his  light  overcoat,  walked  out  of  the 
large,  columnated,  and  terraced  country-house,  in  which 
he  occupied  a small  room  on  the  lower  story,  and  directed 
his  way,  over  the  neglected,  weed-grown  paths  of  the  old 
English  garden,  to  the  village  that  was  situated  on  both 
sides  of  the  highway.  Nekhlyudov  was  a tall,  slender 
young  man  with  long,  thick,  wavy,  auburn  hair,  with  a 
bright  sparkle  in  his  black  eyes,  with  red  cheeks,  and 
ruby  lips  over  which  the  first  down  of  youth  was  just 
appearing.  In  all  his  movements  and  in  his  gait  were  to 
be  seen  strength,  energy,  and  the  good-natured  self-sat- 
isfaction of  youth.  The  peasants  were  returning  in 
variegated  crowds  from  church ; old  men,  girls,  children, 

7 


8 A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


women  with  their  suckling  babes,  in  gala  attire,  were 
scattering  to  their  huts,  bowing  low  to  their  master,  and 
making  a circuit  around  him.  When  Nekhlyudov  reached 
the  street,  he  stopped,  drew  his  note-book  from  his  pocket, 
and  on  the  last  page,  which  was  covered  with  a childish 
handwriting,  read  several  peasant  names,  with  notes. 
“Ivan  Churls  asked  for  fork  posts,”  he  read,  and,  pro- 
ceeding in  the  street,  walked  up  to  the  gate  of  the  second 
hut  on  the  right. 

Churls’s  dwelling  consisted  of  a half-rotten  log  square, 
musty  at  the  corners,  bending  to  one  side,  and  so  sunken 
in  the  ground  that  one  broken,  red,  sliding  window,  with 
its  battered  shutter,  and  another  smaller  window,  stopped 
up  with  a bundle  of  flax,  were  to  be  seen  right  over  the 
dung-heap.  A plank  vestibule,  with  a decayed  threshold 
and  low  door ; another  smaller  square,  more  rickety  and 
lower  than  the  vestibule ; a gate,  and  a wicker  shed 
clung  to  the  main  hut.  All  that  had  at  one  time  been 
covered  by  one  uneven  thatch  ; but  now  the  black,  rotting 
straw  hung  only  over  the  eaves,  so  that  in  places  the 
framework  and  the  rafters  could  be  seen.  In  front  of 
the  yard  was  a well,  with  a dilapidated  box,  with  a 
remnant  of  a post  and  wheel,  and  a dirty  puddle  made 
by  the  tramping  of  the  cattle,  in  which  some  ducks  were 
splashing.  Near  the  well  stood  two  ancient,  cracked,  and 
broken  willows,  with  scanty,  pale  green  leaves.  Under 
one  of  these  willows,  which  witnessed  to  the  fact  that  at 
some  time  in  the  past  some  one  had  tried  to  beautify  the 
spot,  sat  an  eight-year-old  blonde  little  maiden,  with 
another  two-year-old  girl  crawling  on  the  ground.  A 
pup,  which  was  wagging  his  tail  near  them,  ran  headlong 
under  the  gate,  the  moment  he  noticed  the  master,  and 
from  there  btirst  into  a frightened,  quivering  bark. 

“Is  Iv£n  at  home?”  asked  Nekhlyudov. 

The  older  girl  was  almost  petrified  at  this  question, 
and  was  opening  her  eyes  wider  and  wider,  but  did  not 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  9 


answer;  the  smaller  one  opened  her  mouth,  and  was 
getting  ready  to  cry.  A small  old  woman,  in  a torn 
checkered  dress,  girded  low  with  an  old,  reddish  belt, 
looked  from  behind  the  door,  but  did  not  answer.  Nekh- 
lyudov  walked  up  to  the  vestibule,  and  repeated  his 
question. 

“ At  home,  benefactor,3 ” said  the  old  woman,  in  a quiv- 
ering voice,  bowing  low,  and  agitated  with  terror. 

When  Nekhlyudov  greeted  her,  and  passed  through 
the  vestibule  into  the  narrow  yard,  the  old  woman  put 
her  hand  to  her  chin,  walked  up  to  the  door,  and,  without 
turning  her  eyes  away  from  the  master,  began  slowly  to 
shake  her  head. 

The  yard  looked  wretched.  Here  and  there  lay  old 
blackened  manure  that  had  not  been  removed ; on  the 
manure-heap  lay  carelessly  a musty  block,  a fork,  and 
two  harrows.  The  sheds  about  the  yard,  under  which 
stood,  on  one  side,  a plough  and  a cart  without  a wheel, 
and  lay  a mass  of  empty,  useless  beehives  in  confusion, 
were  nearly  all  unthatched,  and  one  side  had  fallen  in, 
so  that  the  girders  no  longer  rested  on  the  fork  posts,  but 
on  the  manure. 

Churls,  striking  with  the  edge  and  head  of  his  axe,  was 
trying  to  remove  a wicker  fence  which  the  roof  had 
crushed.  Ivan  Churls  was  a man  about  fifty  years  of 
age.  He  was  below  the  average  height.  The  features 
of  his  tanned,  oblong  face,  encased  in  an  auburn  beard 
with  streaks  of  gray,  and  thick  hair  of  the  same  colour, 
were  fair  and  expressive.  His  dark  blue,  half-shut  eyes 
shone  with  intelligence  and  careless  good  nature.  A 
small,  regular  mouth,  sharply  defined  under  a scanty 
blond  moustache,  expressed,  whenever  he  smiled,  calm 
self-confidence  and  a certain  derisive  indifference  to  his 
surroundings.  From  the  coarseness  of  his  skin,  deep 
wrinkles,  sharply  defined  veins  on  his  neck,  face,  and 
hands,  from  his  unnatural  stoop,  and  crooked,  arch-like 


10  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 

legs,  it  could  be  seen  that  all  his  life  had  passed  in 
extremely  hard  labour,  which  was  beyond  his  strength. 
His  attire  consisted  of  white  hempen  drawers,  with  blue 
patches  over  his  knees,  and  a similar  dirty  shirt,  which 
was  threadbare  on  his  back  and  arms.  The  shirt  was 
girded  low  by  a thin  ribbon,  from  which  hung  a brass  key. 

“ God  aid  you  ! ” said  the  master,  entering  the  yard. 

Churls  looked  around  him,  and  again  took  up  his  work. 
After  an  energetic  effort  he  straightened  out  the  wicker 
work  from  under  the  shed ; then  only  he  struck  the  axe 
into  a block,  pulled  his  shirt  in  shape,  and  walked  into 
the  middle  of  the  yard. 

“ I wish  you  a pleasant  holiday,  your  Grace ! ” he  said, 
making  a low  obeisance,  and  shaking  his  hair. 

“ Thank  you,  my  dear.  I just  came  to  look  at  your 
farm,”  said  Nekhlyudov,  with  childish  friendliness  and 
embarrassment,  examining  the  peasant’s  garb.  “ Let  me 
see  for  what  you  need  the  fork  posts  that  you  asked  of 
me  at  the  meeting  of  the  Commune.” 

“ The  forks  ? Why,  your  Grace,  you  know  what  forks 
are  for.  I just  wanted  to  give  a little  support  to  it,  — 
you  may  see  for  yourself.  Only  a few  days  ago  a corner 
fell  in,  and  by  God’s  kindness  there  were  no  animals  in 
it  at  the  time.  It  barely  hangs  together,”  said  Churls, 
contemptuously  surveying  his  unthatched,  crooked,  and 
dilapidated  sheds.  “ When  it  comes  to  that,  there  is  not 
a decent  girder,  rafter,  or  box  case  in  them.  Where  am 
I to  get  the  timber  ? You  know  that  yourself.” 

“ Then  why  do  you  ask  for  five  forks  when  one  shed 
is  all  fallen  in,  and  the  others  soon  will  fall  ? What  you 
need  is  not  forks,  but  rafters,  girders,  posts,  — all  new 
ones,”  said  the  master,  obviously  parading  his  familiarity 
with  the  subject. 

Churls  was  silent. 

“What  you  need,  therefore,  is  timber  and  not  forks. 
Sou  ought  to  have  said  so.” 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  11 


“ Of  course,  I need  that,  but  where  am  I to  get  it  ? It 
won’t  do  to  go  for  everything  to  the  manor.  What  kind 
of  peasants  should  we  be  if  we  were  permitted  to  go  to 
the  manor  to  ask  your  Grace  for  everything  ? But  if  you 
will  permit  me  to  take  the  oak  posts  that  are  lying  use- 
lessly in  the  threshing-floor  of  the  manor,”  he  said,  bow- 
ing, and  resting  now  on  one  foot,  now  on  the  other,  “ I 
might  manage,  by  changing  some,  and  cutting  down 
others,  to  fix  something  with  that  old  material.” 

“ With  the  old  material  ? But  you  say  yourself  that 
everything  of  yours  is  old  and  rotten.  To-day  one  corner 
is  falling  in,  to-morrow  another,  and  day  after  to-morrow 
a third.  So,  if  you  are  to  do  anything  about  it,  you  had 
better  put  in  everything  new,  or  else  your  labour  will 
be  lost.  Tell  me,  what  is  your  opinion  ? Can  your 
buildings  last  through  the  winter,  or  not  ? ” 

“ Who  knows  ? ” 

“No,  what  do  you  think?  Will  they  fall  in,  or 
not  ? ” 

Chuns  meditated  for  a moment. 

“ It  will  all  fall  in,”  he  said,  suddenly. 

“ Well,  you  see,  you  ought  to  have  said  at  the  meeting 
that  you  have  to  get  the  whole  property  mended,  and 
not  that  you  need  a few  forks.  I am  only  too  glad  to 
aid  you.” 

“ We  are  very  well  satisfied  with  your  favour,”  answered 
Chuns,  incredulously,  without  looking  at  the  master.  “ If 
you  would  only  favour  me  with  four  logs  and  the  forks,  I 
might  manage  it  myself ; and  whatever  useless  timber 
I shall  take  out,  might  be  used  for  supports  in  the  hut.” 

“ Is  your  hut  in  a bad  condition,  too  ? ” 

“ My  wife  and  I are  expecting  every  moment  to  be 
crushed,”  Chuns  answered,  with  indifference.  “ Lately  a 
strut  from  the  ceiling  struck  down  my  old  woman.” 

“ What  ? Struck  down  ? ” 

“ Yes,  struck  her  down,  your  Grace.  It  just  whacked 


12  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


her  on  the  back  so  that  she  was  left  for  dead  until  the 
evening.” 

“ Well,  did  she  get  over  it  ? ” 

“ She  did  get  over  it,  but  she  is  ailing  now.  Although, 
of  course,  she  has  been  sickly  since  her  birth.” 

“ What,  are  you  sick  ? ” Nekhlyudov  asked  the  old 
woman,  who  continued  to  stand  in  the  door,  and  began  to 
groan  the  moment  her  husband  spoke  of  her. 

“ Something  catches  right  in  here,  that’s  all,”  she  an- 
swered, pointing  to  her  dirty,  emaciated  bosom. 

“ Again  ! ” angrily  exclaimed  the  young  master,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders.  “ There  you  are,  sick,  and  you  did 
not  come  to  the  hospital.  That  is  what  the  hospital  was 
made  for.  Have  you  not  been  told  of  it  ? ” 

“ They  told  us,  benefactor,  but  we  have  had  no  time : 
there  is  the  manorial  work,  and  the  house,  and  the  chil- 
dren, — I am  all  alone ! There  is  nobody  to  help  me  — ” 


III. 


Nekhlyudov  walked  into  the  hut.  The  uneven,  grimy 
walls  were  in  the  kitchen  corner  covered  with  all  kinds  of 
rags  and  clothes,  while  the  corner  of  honour  was  literally 
red  with  cockroaches  that  swarmed  about  the  images  and 
benches.  In  the  middle  of  this  black,  ill-smelling,  eight- 
een-foot hut  there  was  a large  crack  in  the  ceiling,  and 
although  supports  were  put  in  two  places,  the  ceiling  was 
so  bent  that  it  threatened  to  fall  down  any  minute. 

“ Yes,  the  hut  is  in  a very  bad  shape,”  said  the  master, 
gazing  at  the  face  of  Chuns,  who,  it  seemed,  did  not  wish 
to  begin  a conversation  about  this  matter. 

“ It  will  kill  us,  and  the  children,  too,”  the  old  woman 
kept  saying,  in  a tearful  voice,  leaning  against  the  oven 
under  the  hanging  beds. 

“ Don’t  talk  ! ” sternly  spoke  Chuns,  and,  turning  to  the 
master,  with  a light,  barely  perceptible  smile,  which  had 
formed  itself  under  his  quivering  moustache,  he  said  : “ I 
am  at  a loss,  your  Grace,  what  to  do  with  this  hut. 
I have  braced  it  and  mended  it,  but  all  in  vain.” 

“ How  are  we  to  pass  a winter  in  it  ? Oh,  oh,  oh  ! ” 
said  the  woman. 

“Now,  if  I could  put  in  a few  braces  and  fix  a new 
strut,”  her  husband  interrupted  her,  with  a calm,  business- 
like expression,  “ and  change  one  rafter,  we  might  be  able 
to  get  through  another  winter.  We  might  be  able  to  live 
here,  only  it  will  be  all  cut  up  by  the  braces ; and  if  any- 
body should  touch  it,  not  a thing  would  be  left  alive ; but 

13 


14  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


it  might  do,  as  long  as  it  stands  and  holds  together,”  he 
concluded/  evidently  satisfied  with  his  argument. 

Nekhlyudov  was  annoyed  and  pained  because  Churls 
had  come  to  such  a state  without  having  asked  his  aid 
before,  whereas  he  had  not  once  since  his  arrival  refused 
the  peasants  anything,  and  had  requested  that  everybody 
should  come  to  him  directly  if  they  needed  anything.  He 
was  even  vexed  at  the  peasant,  angrily  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, and  frowned  ; but  the  sight  of  wretchedness  about  him, 
and  Churls’s  calm  and  self-satisfied  countenance  amidst 
this  wretchedness,  changed  his  vexation  into  a melancholy, 
hopeless  feeling. 

“Now,  Ivan,  why  did  you  not  tell  me  before?”  he  re- 
marked reproachfully,  sitting  down  on  a dirty,  crooked 
bench. 

“ I did  not  dare  to,  your  Grace,”  answered  Churls,  wuth 
the  same  scarcely  perceptible  smile,  shuffling  his  black, 
bare  feet  on  the  uneven  dirt  floor ; but  he  said  it  so  boldly 
and  quietly  that  it  was  hard  to  believe  that  he  had  been 
afraid  to  approach  the  master. 

“ We  are  peasants  : how  dare  we  — ” began  the  woman, 
sobbing. 

“ Stop  your  prattling,”  Churls  again  turned  to  her. 

“ You  cannot  live  in  this  hut,  that  is  impossible ! ” said 
Nekhlyudov,  after  a moment’s  silence.  “ This  is  what  we 
will  do,  my  friend  — ” 

“ I am  listening,  sir,”  Churls  interrupted  him. 

“ Have  you  seen  the  stone  huts,  with  the  hollow  walls, 
that  I have  had  built  in  the  new  hamlet  ? ” 

“ Of  course  I have,  sir,”  replied  Churls,  showing  his 
good  white  teeth  in  his  smile.  “We  marvelled  a great 
deal  as  they  were  building  them,  — wonderful  huts  ! The 
boys  made  sport  of  them,  saying  that  the  hollow  walls 
were  storehouses,  to  keep  rats  away.  Fine  huts  ! ” he  con- 
cluded, with  an  expression  of  sarcastic  incredulity,  shaking 
his  head.  “ Regular  jails  ! ” 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  15 


“ Yes,  excellent  huts,  dry  and  warm,  and  not  so  likely 
to  take  fire,”  retorted  the  master,  with  a frown  on  his 
youthful  face,  obviously  dissatisfied  with  the  peasant's 
sarcasm. 

“No  question  about  that,  your  Grace,  fine  huts.” 

“ Now,  one  of  those  huts  is  all  ready.  It  is  a thirty- 
foot  hut,  with  vestibules  and  a storeroom,  ready  for  occu- 
pancy* I will  let  you  have  it  at  your  price ; you  will  pay 
me  when  you  can,”  said  the  master,  with  a self-satisfied 
smile,  which  he  could  not  keep  back,  at  the  thought  that 
he  was  doing  a good  act.  “ You  will  break  down  your 
old  hut,”  he  continued;  “it  will  do  yet  for  a barn.  We 
will  transfer  the  outhouses  in  some  way.  There  is  excel- 
lent water  there.  I will  cut  a garden  for  you  out  of  the 
cleared  ground,  and  also  will  lay  out  a piece  of  land  for 
you  in  three  parcels.  You  will  be  happy  there.  Well, 
are  you  not  satisfied?”  asked  Nekhlyudov,  when  he  no- 
ticed that  the  moment  he  mentioned  changing  quarters 
Chuns  stood  in  complete  immobility  and,  without  a smile, 
gazed  at  the  floor. 

“ It  is  your  Grace's  will,”  he  answered,  without  lifting 
his  eyes. 

The  old  woman  moved  forward,  as  if  touched  to  the 
quick,  and  was  about  to  say  something,  but  her  husband 
anticipated  her. 

“ It  is  your  Grace's  will,”  he  repeated,  firmly,  and  at  the 
same  time  humbly,  looking  at  his  master,  and  shaking  his 
hair,  “ but  it  will  not  do  for  us  to  live  in  the  new  hamlet.” 

“ Why  ? ” 

“ No,  your  Grace ! We  are  badly  off  here,  but  if  you 
transfer  us  there,  we  sha'n't  stay  peasants  long.  What 
kind  of  peasants  can  we  be  there  ? It  is  impossible  to 
live  there,  saving  your  Grace ! " 

“ Why  not  ? ” 

“We  shall  be  completely  ruined,  your  Grace!” 

“ But  why  is  it  impossible  to  live  there  ? ” 


16  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 

“What  life  will  it  be?  You  judge  for  yourself:  the 
place  has  never  been  inhabited ; the  quality  of  the  water 
is  unknown;  there  is  no  place  to  drive  the  cattle  to. 
Our  hemp  plots  have  been  manured  here  since  time 
immemorial,  but  how  is  it  there  ? Why,  there  is  nothing 
but  barrenness  there.  Neither  fences,  nor  kilns,  nor  sheds, 
— nothing.  We  shall  be  ruined,  your  Grace,  if  you  insist 
upon  our  going  there,  completely  ruined  ! It  is  a new 
place,  an  unknown  place  ■ — ” he  repeated,  with  a melan- 
choly, but  firm,  shake  of  his  head. 

Nekhlyudov  began  to  prove  to  the  peasant  that  the 
transfer  would  be  very  profitable  to  him,  that  fences  and 
sheds  would  be  put  up,  that  the  water  was  good  there, 
and  so  forth ; but  Churls’s  dull  silence  embarrassed  him, 
and  he  felt  that  he  was  not  saying  what  he  ought  to. 
Churls  did  not  reply;  but  when  the  master  grew  silent, 
he  remarked,  with  a light  smile,  that  it  would  be  best  to 
settle  the  old  domestic  servants  and  Aleshka  the  fool  in 
that  hamlet,  to  keep  a watch  on  the  grain. 

“Now  that  would  be  excellent,”  he  remarked,  and 
smiled  again.  “ It  is  a useless  affair,  your  Grace  ! ” 

“ What  of  it  if  it  is  an  uninhabited  place  ? ” Nekhlyudov 
expatiated,  patiently.  “Here  was  once  an  uninhabited 
place,  and  people  are  living  in  it  now.  And  so  you  had 
better  settle  there  in  a lucky  hour  — Yes,  you  had  bet- 
ter settle  there  — ” 

“ But,  your  Grace,  there  is  no  comparison ! ” Churls 
answered  with  animation,  as  if  afraid  that  the  master 
might  have  taken  his  final  resolution.  “ Here  is  a cheery 
place,  a gay  place,  and  we  are  used  to  it,  and  to  the  road, 
and  the  pond,  where  the  women  wash  the  clothes  and  the 
cattle  go  to  water ; and  all  our  peasant  surroundings  have 
been  here  since  time  immemorial,  — the  threshing-floor, 
the  garden,  and  the  willows  that  my  parents  have  set  out. 
My  grandfather  and  father  have  given  their  souls  to  God 
here,  and  I ask  nothing  else,  your  Grace,  but  to  be  able 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  17 


to  end  my  days  here.  If  it  should  be  your  favour  to 
mend  the  hut,  we  shall  be  greatly  obliged  to  your  Grace ; 
if  not,  we  shall  manage  to  end  our  days  in  the  old  hut. 
Let  us  pray  to  the  Lord  all  our  days,”  he  continued, 
making  low  obeisances.  “ Drive  us  not  from  our  nest,  sir.” 

While  Chuns  was  speaking,  ever  louder  and  louder  sobs 
were  heard  under  the  beds,  in  the  place  where  his  wife 
stood,  and  when  her  husband  pronounced  the  word  “ sir,” 
his  wife  suddenly  rushed  out  and,  weeping,  threw  herself 
down  at  the  master’s  feet : 

“Do  not  ruin  us,  benefactor!  You  are  our  father,  you 
are  our  mother  ! What  business  have  we  to  move  ? We 
are  old  and  lonely  people.  Both  God  and  you  — ” She 
burst  out  in  tears. 

Nekhlyudov  jumped  up  from  his  seat,  and  wanted  to 
raise  the  old  woman,  but  she  struck  the  earth  floor  with 
a certain  voluptuousness  of  despair,  and  pushed  away  the 
master’s  hand. 

“ What  are  you  doing  ? Get  up,  please ! If  you  do 
not  wish,  you  do  not  have  to,”  he  said,  waving  his  hands, 
and  retreating  to  the  door. 

When  Nekhlyudov  seated  himself  again  on  the  bench, 
and  silence  reigned  in  the  hut,  interrupted  only  by  the 
blubbering  of  the  old  woman,  who  had  again  removed 
herself  to  her  place  under  the  beds,  and  was  there  wiping 
off  her  tears  with  the  sleeve  of  her  shirt,  the  young- 
proprietor  comprehended  what  meaning  the  dilapidated 
wretched  hut,  the  broken  well  with  the  dirty  puddle,  the 
rotting  stables  and  barns,  and  the  split  willows  that  could 
be  seen  through  the  crooked  window,  had  for  Chuns  and 
his  wife,  and  a heavy,  melancholy  feeling  came  over  him, 
and  he  was  embarrassed. 

“ Why  did  you  not  say  at  the  meeting  of  last  week  that 
you  needed  a hut  ? I do  not  know  now  how  to  help  you. 
I told  you  all  at  the  first  meeting  that  I was  settled  in  the 
estate,  and  that  I meant  to  devote  my  life  to  you ; that  I 


18  A MORNING  OF  A LANDFO  PROPRIETOR 


was  prepared  to  deprive  myseL'  of  everything  in  order  to 
see  you  contented  and  happy,  — and  I vow  before  God 
that  I will  keep  my  word,”  said  the  youthful  proprietor, 
unconscious  of  the  fact  that  such  ebullitions  were  unable 
to  gain  the  confidence  of  any  man,  least  of  all  a Russian, 
who  loves  not  words  but  deeds,  and  who  is  averse  to  the 
expression  of  feelings,  however  beautiful. 

The  simple-hearted  young  man  was  so  happy  in  the 
sentiment  which  he  was  experiencing  that  he  could  not 
help  pouring  it  out. 

Churls  bent  his  head  sideways  and,  blinking  slowly, 
listened  with  forced  attention  to  his  master  as  to  a man 
who  must  be  listened  to,  though  he  may  say  things  that 
are  not  very  agreeable  and  have  not  the  least  reference  to 
the  listener. 

“ But  I cannot  give  everybody  all  they  ask  of  me.  If 
I did  not  refuse  anybody  who  asks  me  for  timber,  I should 
soon  be  left  with  none  myself,  and  would  be  unable  to 
give  to  him  who  is  really  in  need  of  it.  That  is  why  I 
have  put  aside  a part  of  the  forest  to  be  used  for  mending 
the  peasant  buildings,  and  have  turned  it  over  to  the 
Commune.  That  forest  is  no  longer  mine,  but  yours, 
the  peasants',  and  I have  no  say  about  it,  but  the  Com- 
mune controls  it  as  it  sees  fit.  Come  this  evening  to  the 
meeting ; I will  tell  the  Commune  of  your  need : if  it 
resolves  to  give  you  a new  hut,  it  is  well,  but  I have  no 
forest.  I am  anxious  to  help  you  with  all  my  heart ; but 
if  you  do  not  want  to  move,  the  Commune  will  have  to 
arrange  it  for  you,  and  not  I.  Do  you  understand  me  ? ” 

“ We  are  very  well  satisfied  with  your  favour,”  answered 
the  embarrassed  Chuns.  “ If  you  will  deign  to  let  me 
have  a little  timber  for  the  outbuildings,  I will  manage 
one  way  or  other.  The  Commune?  Well,  we  know  — ” 

“ No,  you  had  better  come.” 

“ Your  servant,  sir.  I shall  be  there.  Why  should  I 
not  go  ? Only  I will  not  ask  the  Commune  for  anything.” 


IV. 


The  young  proprietor  evidently  wanted  to  ask  the 
peasant  people  something  else;  he  did  not  rise  from 
the  bench,  and  with  indecision  looked  now  at  Chuns,  and 
now  into  the  empty,  cold  oven. 

“ Have  you  had  your  dinner  ? ” he  finally  asked  them. 
Under  Churls’s  moustache  played  a sarcastic  smile,  as 
though  it  amused  him  to  hear  the  master  ask  such  foolish 
questions ; he  did  not  answer. 

“ What  dinner,  benefactor  ? ” said  the  old  woman,  with 
a deep  sigh.  “We  have  eaten  some  bread.  That  was 
our  dinner.  There  was  no  time  to-day  to  go  for  some 
sorrel,  and  so  there  was  nothing  to  make  soup  with,  and 
what  kvas  there  was  I gave  to  the  children.” 

“ To-day  we  have  a hunger  fast,  your  Grace,”  Churls 
chimed  in,  glossing  his  wife’s  words.  “ Bread  and  onions, 
— such  is  our  peasant  food.  Thank  the  Lord  I have 
some  little  bread ; by  your  favour  it  has  lasted  until  now ; 
but  the  rest  of  our  peasants  have  not  even  that.  The 
onions  are  a failure  this  year.  We  sent  a few  days  ago 
to  Mikhaylo  the  gardener,  but  he  asks  a penny  a bunch, 
and  we  are  too  poor  for  that.  We  have  not  been  to 
church  since  Easter,  and  we  have  no  money  with  which 
to  buy  a candle  for  St.  Nicholas.” 

Nekhlyudov  had  long  known,  not  by  hearsay,  nor 
trusting  the  words  of  others,  but  by  experience,  all 
the  extreme  wretchedness  of  his  peasants ; but  all  that 
reality  was  so  incompatible  with  his  education,  his  turn  of 
mind,  and  manner  of  life,  that  he  involuntarily  forgot  the 

19 


20  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


truth ; and  every  time  when  he  was  reminded  of  it  in  a 
vivid  and  palpable  manner,  as  now,  his  heart  felt  intoler- 
ably heavy  and  sad,  as  though  he  were  tormented  by  the 
recollection  of  some  unatoned  crime  which  he  had  com- 
mitted. 

“ Why  are  you  so  poor  ? ” he  said,  involuntarily  express- 
ing his  thought. 

“What  else  are  we  to  be,  your  Grace,  if  not  poor? 
You  know  yourself  what  kind  of  soil  we  have : clay  and 
clumps,  and  we  must  have  angered  God,  for  since  the 
cholera  we  have  had  very  poor  crops  of  grain.  The 
meadows  and  fields  have  grown  less ; some  have  been 
taken  into  the  estate,  others  have  been  directly  attached 
to  the  manorial  fields.  I am  all  alone  and  old.  I would 
gladly  try  to  do  something,  but  I have  no  strength.  My 
old  woman  is  sick,  and  every  year  she  bears  a girl ; they 
have  to  be  fed.  I am  working  hard  all  by  myself,  and 
there  are  seven  souls  in  the  house.  It  is  a sin  before 
God  our  Lord,  but  I often  think  it  would  be  well  if  he 
took  some  of  them  away  as  soon  as  possible.  It  would  be 
easier  for  me  and  for  them  too,  it  would  be  better  than 
to  suffer  here  — ” 

“ Oh,  oh ! ” the  woman  sighed  aloud,  as  though  con- 
firming her  husband's  words. 

“ Here  is  my  whole  help,"  continued  Chuns,  pointing  to 
a flaxen-haired,  shaggy  boy  of  some  seven  years,  with  an 
immense  belly,  who,  softly  creaking  the  door,  had  just 
entered  timidly,  and,  morosely  fixing  his  wondering  eyes 
upon  the  master,  with  both  his  hands  was  holding  on  to 
his  father's  shirt.  “ Here  is  my  entire  help,"  continued 
Chuns,  in  a sonorous  voice,  passing  his  rough  hand 
through  his  child's  hair.  “ It  will  be  awhile  before  he 
will  be  able  to  do  anything,  and  in  the  meantime  the 
work  is  above  my  strength.  It  is  not  so  much  my  age 
as  the  rupture  that  is  undoing  me.  In  bad  weather  it 
just  makes  me  scream.  I ought  to  have  given  up  the 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  21 


land  long  ago,  and  been  accounted  an  old  man.  Here  is 
Ermilov,  Denikin,  Zyabrev,  — they  are  all  younger  than 
I,  but  they  have  long  ago  given  up  the  land.  But  I have 
no  one  to  whom  I might  turn  over  the  land,  — that’s 
where  the  trouble  is.  I must  support  the  family,  so  I am 
struggling,  your  Grace.” 

“ I would  gladly  make  it  easier  for  you,  really.  How 
can  I ? ” said  the  young  master,  sympathetically,  looking 
at  the  peasant. 

“ How  make  it  easier  ? Of  course,  he  who  holds  land 
must  do  the  manorial  work ; that  is  an  established  rule. 
I shall  wait  for  the  little  fellow  to  grow  up.  If  it  is  your 
will,  excuse  him  from  school ; for  a few  days  ago  the  vil- 
lage scribe  came  and  said  that  your  Grace  wanted  him  to' 
come  to  school.  Do  excuse  him  : what  mind  can  he 
have,  your  Grace  ? He  is  too  young,  and  has  not  much 
sense  yet.” 

“ No ; this,  my  friend,  must  be,”  said  the  master.  “ Your 
boy  can  comprehend,  it  is  time  for  him  to  study.  I am 
saying  it  for  your  own  good.  You  judge  yourself : when 
he  grows  up,  and  becomes  a householder,  he  will  know 
how  to  read  and  write,  and  he  will  read  in  church, — 
everything  will  go  well  with  you,  with  God’s  aid,”  said 
Nekhlyudov,  trying  to  express  himself  as  clearly  as  pos- 
sible, and,  at  the  same  time,  blushing  and  stammering. 

“ No  doubt,  your  Grace,  you  do  not  wish  us  any  harm ; 
but  there  is  nobody  at  home;  my  wife  and  I have  to 
work  in  the  manorial  field,  and,  small  though  he  is,  he 
helps  us  some,  by  driving  the  cattle  home,  and  taking  the 
horses  to  water.  As  little  as  he  is,  he  is  a peasant  all 
the  same,”  and  Churis,  smiling,  took  hold  of  his  boy’s 
nose  between  his  thick  fingers,  and  cleaned  it. 

“ Still,  send  him  when  he  is  at  home,  and  has  time,  — 
do  you  hear  ? — without  fail.” 

Churis  drew  a deep  sigh,  and  did  not  reply. 


V, 


“ There  is  something  else  I wanted  to  tell  you/’  said 
Nekhlyudov.  “Why  has  not  your  manure  been  re- 
moved ? ” 

“ What  manure  is  there  to  take  away,  your  Grace  ? 
How  many  animals  have  I ? A little  mare  and  a colt, 
‘and  the  young  heifer  I gave  last  autumn  to  the  porter; 
that  is  all  the  animals  I have.” 

“ You  have  so  few  animals,  and  yet  you  gave  your 
heifer  away  ? ” the  master  asked,  in  amazement. 

“ What  was  I to  feed  her  on  ? ” 

“ Have  you  not  enough  straw  to  feed  a cow  with  ? 
Everybody  else  has” 

“ Others  have  manured  land,  and  my  land  is  mere  clay 
that  you  can't  do  anything  with.” 

“ But  that  is  what  your  manure  is  for,  to  take  away 
the  clay : and  the  soil  will  produce  grain,  and  you  will 
have  something  to  feed  your  animals  with.” 

“ But  if  there  are  no  animals,  where  is  the  manure  to 
come  from  ? ” 

“ This  is  a strange  cercle  vicieux”  thought  Nekhlyudov, 
but  was  at  a loss  how  to  advise  the  peasant. 

“ And  then  again,  your  Grace,  not  the  manure  makes 
the  grain  grow,  but  God,”  continued  Chuns.  “Now,  last 
year  I got  six  ricks  out  of  one  unmanured  eighth,  but 
from  another  dressed  eighth  I did  not  reap  as  much  as  a 
cock.  God  alone ! ” he  added,  with  a sigh.  “ And  the 
cattle  somehow  do  not  thrive  in  our  yard.  They  have 
died  for  six  years  in  succession.  Last  year  a heifer  died, 

22 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  23 

the  other  I sold,  for  we  had  nothing  to  live  on  ; two  years 
ago  a fine  cow  died ; when  she  was  driven  home  from  the 
herd,  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with  her,  but  she  sud- 
denly staggered,  and  staggered,  and  off  she  went.  Just 
my  bad  luck  ! ” 

“ Well,  my  friend,  you  may  say  what  you  please  about 
not  having  any  cattle,  because  you  have  no  feed,  and  about 
having  no  feed,  because  you  have  no  cattle,  — here  is  some 
money  for  a cow,”  said  Nekhlyudov,  blushing,  and  taking 
from  his  trousers’  pocket  a package  of  crumpled  bills,  and 
running  through  it.  “ Buy  yourself  a cow,  with  my  luck, 
and  get  the  feed  from  the  barn,  — I will  give  orders. 
Be  sure  and  have  a cow  by  next  Sunday,  — I will 
look  in.” 

Churls  smiled  and  shuffled  his  feet,  and  for  so  long  did 
not  stretch  out  his  hand  for  the  money,  that  Nekhlyudov 
put  it  on  the  end  of  the  table,  and  reddened  even 
more. 

“We  are  very  well  satisfied  with  your  favour,”  said 
Churls,  with  his  usual,  slightly  sarcastic  smile. 

The  old  woman  sighed  heavily  several  times,  standing 
under  the  beds,  and  seemed  to  be  uttering  a prayer. 

The  young  master  felt  embarrassed ; he  hastily  rose 
from  his  bench,  walked  out  into  the  vestibule,  and  called 
Churls.  The  sight  of  a man  to  whom  he  had  done  a 
good  turn  was  so  pleasant,  that  he  did  not  wish  to  part 
from  it  so  soon. 

“ I am  glad  I can  help  you,”  he  said,  stopping  near  the 
well.  “ It  is  all  right  to  help  you,  because  I know  you 
are  not  a lazy  man.  You  will  work,  and  I will  help  you ; 
with  God’s  aid  things  will  improve.” 

“ There  is  no  place  for  improvement,  your  Grace,”  said 
Churls,  suddenly  assuming  a serious,  and  even  an  austere, 
expression  on  his  face,  as  though  dissatisfied  with  the 
master’s  supposition  that  he  might  improve.  “ I lived 
with  my  brothers  when  my  father  was  alive,  and  we 


24  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


suffered  no  want;  but  when  he  died,  and  we  separated, 
things  went  from  worse  to  worse.  It  is  all  because  we 
are  alone ! ” 

“ But  why  did  you  separate  ? ” 

“ All  on  account  of  the  women,  your  Grace.  At  that 
time  your  grandfather  was  not  living,  or  they  would  not 
have  dared  to;  then  there  was  real  order.  He  looked 
after  everything,  like  you, — and  we  should  not  have 
dared  to  think  of  separating.  Your  grandfather  did  not 
let  the  peasants  off  so  easily.  But  after  him  the  estate 
was  managed  by  Andr^y  Ilich,  — may  he  not  live  by 
this  memory,  — he  was  a drunkard  and  an  unreliable 
man.  We  went  to  him  once,  and  a second  time.  ‘There 
is  no  getting  along  with  the  women/  we  said,  ‘ let  us 
separate/  Well,  he  gave  it  to  us,  but,  in  the  end,  the 
women  had  their  way,  and  we  separated ; and  you  know 
what  a peasant  is  all  by  himself ! Well,  there  was  no 
order  here,  and  Andr^y  Ilich  treated  us  as  he  pleased. 
‘ Let  there  be  everything ! ’ but  he  never  asked  where  a 
peasant  was  to  get  it.  Then  they  increased  the  capita- 
tion tax,  and  began  to  collect  more  provisions  for  the 
table,  but  the  land  grew  less,  and  the  crops  began  to  fail. 
And  when  it  came  to  resurveying  the  land,  he  attached 
our  manured  land  to  the  manorial  strip,  the  rascal,  and 
he  left  us  just  to  die ! 

“Your  father  — the  kingdom  of  heaven  be  his  — was 
a good  master,  but  we  hardly  ever  saw  him:  he  lived  all 
the  time  in  Moscow ; of  course,  we  had  to  carry  supplies 
there  frequently.  There  may  have  been  bad  roads,  and 
no  fodder,  but  we  had  to  go!  How  could  the  master 
get  along  without  it?  We  can’t  complain  about  that, 
only  there  was  no  order.  Now,  your  Grace  admits  every 
peasant  into  your  presence,  and  we  are  different  people, 
and  the  steward  is  a different  man.  But  before,  the 
estate  was  left  in  guardianship,  and  there  was  no  real 
master ; the  guardian  was  master,  and  Ilich  was  master, 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  25 


and  his  wife  was  mistress,  and  the  scribe  was  master. 
The  peasants  came  to  grief,  oh,  to  so  much  grief ! ” 

Again  Nekhlyudov  experienced  a feeling  akin  to  shame 
or  to  pricks  of  conscience.  He  raised  his  hat  a little,  and 
>'::alked  away. 


VI, 


“ Yukhvanka  the  Shrewd  wants  to  sell  a horse,” 
Nekhlyudov  read  in  his  note-book,  and  crossed  the  street. 
Yukhvdnka’s  hut  was  carefully  thatched  with  straw  from 
the  manorial  barn,  and  was  constructed  of  fresh,  light 
gray  aspen  timbers  (also  from  the  manorial  forest),  with 
two  shutters  painted  red,  and  a porch  with  a roof,  and  a 
quaint  shingle  balustrade  of  an  artistic  design.  The  ves- 
tibule and  the  “ cold  ” hut  were  also  in  proper  condition ; 
but  the  general  aspect  of  sufficiency  and  well-being, 
which  this  collection  of  buildings  had,  was  somewhat  im- 
paired by  the  outhouse  which  leaned  against  the  gate, 
with  its  unfinished  wicker  fence  and  open  thatch  which 
could  be  seen  from  behind  it. 

At  the  same  time  that  Nekhlyudov  was  approach- 
ing the  porch  from  one  side,  two  peasant  women  came 
from  the  other  with  a full  tub.  One  of  them  was  the  wife, 
the  other  the  mother  of  Yukhvanka  the  Shrewd.  The 
first  was  a plump,  red-cheeked  woman,  with  an  unusually 
well-developed  bosom,  and  broad,  fleshy  cheek-bones.  She 
wore  a clean  shirt,  embroidered  on  the  sleeves  and  collar, 
an  apron  similarly  decorated,  a new  linen  skirt,  leather 
shoes,  glass  beads,  and  a foppish  square  head-gear  made 
of  red  paper  and  spangles. 

The  end  of  the  yoke  did  not  shake,  but  lay  firmly  on 
her  broad  and  solid  shoulder.  The  light  exertion  which 
was  noticeable  in  her  ruddy  face,  in  the  curvature  of  her 
back,  and  in  the  measured  motion  of  her  arms  and  legs, 
pointed  to  extraordinary  health  and  masculine  strength. 

26 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  27 

Yukhvanka’s  mother,  who  was  carrying  the  other  end 
of  the  yoke,  was,  on  the  contrary,  one  of  those  old  women 
who  seem  to  have  reached  the  extreme  limit  of  old  age 
and  disintegration  possible  in  living  man.  Her  bony 
frame,  covered  with  a black,  torn  shirt  and  colourless 
skirt,  was  so  bent  that  the  yoke  rested  more  on  her  back 
than  on  her  shoulder.  Both  her  hands,  with  the  dis- 
torted fingers  of  which  she  seemed  to  cling  to  the  yoke, 
were  of  a dark  brown  colour,  and  seemed  incapable  of 
unbending ; her  drooping  head,  which  was  wrapped  in  a 
rag,  bore  the  most  monstrous  traces  of  wretchedness  and 
old  age.  From  under  her  narrow  brow,  which  was  fur- 
rowed in  all  directions  by  deep  wrinkles,  two  red  eyes, 
bereft  of  their  lashes,  looked  dimly  to  the  ground.  One 
yellow  tooth  protruded  from  her  upper  sunken  lip,  and, 
shaking  continually,  now  and  then  collided  with  her 
sharp  chin.  The  wrinkles  on  the  lower  part  of  her  face 
and  throat  resembled  pouches  that  kept  on  shaking  with 
every  motion.  She  breathed  heavily  and  hoarsely ; but 
her  bare,  distorted  feet,  though  apparently  shuffling  with 
difficulty  against  the  ground,  moved  evenly  one  after 
the  other. 


VII 


Haying  almost  collided  with  the  master,  the  young 
woman  deftly  put  down  the  tub,  looked  abashed,  made  a 
bow,  glanced  timidly  at  the  master  with  her  sparkling 
eyes,  and  trying  with  the  sleeve  of  her  embroidered  shirt 
to  conceal  a light  smile,  and  tripping  in  her  leather  shoes, 
ran  up  the  steps. 

“ Mother,  take  the  yoke  to  Aunt  Nastasya,”  she  said, 
stopping  in  the  door  and  turning  to  the  old  woman. 

The  modest  young  proprietor  looked  sternly,  but  atten- 
tively, at  the  ruddy  woman,  frowned,  and  turned  to  the 
old  woman,  who  straightened  out  the  yoke  with  her 
crooked  fingers,  and,  slinging  it  over  her  shoulder,  obedi- 
ently directed  her  steps  to  the  neighbouring  hut. 

“ Is  your  son  at  home  ? ” asked  the  master. 

The  old  woman  bent  her  arched  figure  still  more, 
bowed,  and  was  about  to  say  something,  but  she  put  her 
hands  to  her  mouth  and  coughed  so  convulsively  that 
Nekhlyudov  did  not  wait  for  the  answer,  and  walked  into 
the  hut. 

Yukhvanka,  who  was  sitting  in  the  red1  corner  on  a 
bench,  rushed  to  the  oven  the  moment  he  espied  the  mas- 
ter, as  if  trying  to  hide  from  him ; he  hastily  pushed 
something  on  the  beds,  and  twitching  his  mouth  and  eyes, 
pressed  against  the  wall,  as  if  to  make  way  for  the  master. 

Yukhvanka  was  a blond,  about  thirty  years  of  age, 
spare,  slender,  with  a young  beard  that  ran  down  to  a 
point ; he  would  have  been  a handsome  man  but  for  his 

1 The  best  corner,  corresponding  to  a sitting-room,  is  called  “red.v 

28 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  29 

fleeting  hazel  eyes  which  looked  unpleasantly  beneath 
his  wrinkled  brows,  and  for  the  absence  of  two  front  teeth, 
which  was  very  noticeable  because  his  lips  were  short  and 
in  continuous  motion.  He  was  clad  in  a holiday  shirt 
with  bright  red  gussets,  striped  calico  drawers,  and  heavy 
boots  with  wrinkled  boot-legs. 

The  interior  of  Yukhvanka’s  hut  was  not  so  small  and 
gloomy  as  Churis’s,  though  it  was  as  close,  and  smelled  of 
smoke  and  sheepskins,  and  the  peasant  clothes  and  uten- 
sils were  scattered  about  in  the  same  disorderly  fashion. 
Two  things  strangely  arrested  the  attention : a small 
dented  samovar,  which  stood  on  a shelf,  and  a black 
frame  with  a remnant  of  a glass,  and  a portrait  of  a gen- 
eral in  a red  uniform,  which  was  hanging  near  the  images. 

Nekhlyudov  looked  with  dissatisfaction  at  the  samovar, 
at  the  general's  portrait,  and  at  the  beds,  where  from 
under  a rag  peeped  out  the  end  of  a brass-covered  pipe, 
and  turned  to  the  peasant. 

“ Good  morning,  Epifan,"  he  said,  looking  into  his  eyes. 

Epifan  bowed,  and  mumbled,  “ We  wish  you  health,  ’r 
Grace,"  pronouncing  the  last  words  with  peculiar  tender- 
ness, and  his  eyes  in  a twinkle  surveyed  the  whole  form 
of  the  master,  the  hut,  the  floor,  and  the  ceiling,  not  stop- 
ping at  anything;  then  he  hurriedly  walked  up  to  the 
beds,  pulled  down  a coat  from  them,  and  began  to  put 
it  on. 

“ Why  are  you  dressing  yourself  ? ” said  Nekhlyudov, 
seating  himself  on  a bench,  and  obviously  trying  to  look 
as  stern  as  possible  at  Epifan. 

“ Please,  ’r  Grace,  how  can  I ? It  seems  to  me  we 
know  — ” 

“ I came  in  to  see  why  you  must  sell  a horse,  how 
many  horses  you  have,  and  what  horse  it  is  you  want  to 
sell,"  dryly  said  the  master,  evidently  repeating  questions 
prepared  in  advance. 

“ We  are  well  satisfied  with  T Grace,  because  you  have 


30  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


deigned  to  call  on  me,  a peasant,”  replied  Yukhvdnka, 
casting  rapid  glances  at  the  general’s  portrait,  at  the  oven, 
at  the  master’s  boots,  and  at  all  objects  except  Nekhlyu- 
dov’s  face.  “ We  always  pray  God  for  ’r  Grace  — ” 

“ Why  are  you  selling  a horse  ?”  repeated  Nekhlyudov, 
raising  his  voice,  and  clearing  his  throat. 

Yukhvanka  sighed,  shook  his  hair  (his  glance  again 
surveyed  the  whole  hut),  and,  noticing  the  cat  that  had 
been  quietly  purring  on  a bench,  he  called  out  to  her, 
“ Scat,  you  scamp  ! ” and  hurriedly  turned  to  the  master. 
“ The  horse,  ’r  Grace,  which  is  useless  — If  it  were  a 
good  animal  I would  not  sell  it,  ’r  Grace.” 

“ How  many  horses  have  you  in  all  ? ” 

“ Three,  ’r  Grace.” 

“ Have  you  any  colts  ? ” 

“ Why,  yes,  ’r  Grace  ! I have  one  colt.” 


VIII. 


“ Come,  show  me  your  horses ! Are  they  in  the 
yard  ? ” 

“ Yes,  ’r  Grace.  I have  done  as  I have  been  ordered 
to,  ’r  Grace.  Would  we  dare  to  disobey  ’r  Grace  ? Yakov 
Alpatych  commanded  me  not  to  let  the  horses  out  to 
pasture  for  the  next  day,  as  the  prince  wanted  to  inspect 
them,  so  we  did  not  let  them  out.  We  do  not  dare  dis- 
obey ’r  Grace.” 

As  Nekhlyudov  walked  out  of  the  door,  Yukhvanka 
got  the  pipe  down  from  the  beds,  and  threw  it  behind  the 
oven.  His  lips  quivered  just  as  restlessly,  though  the 
master  was  not  looking  at  him. 

A lean  gray  mare  was  rummaging  through  some  musty 
hay  under  the  shed  ; a two-months-old,  long-legged  colt  of 
an  indefinable  colour,  with  bluish  feet  and  mouth,  did  not 
leave  her  mother's  thin  tail  that  was  all  stuck  up  with 
burrs.  In  the  middle  of  the  yard  stood,  blinking  and 
pensively  lowering  his  head,  a thick-bellied  chestnut  geld- 
ing, apparently  a good  peasant  horse. 

“ Are  these  all  your  horses  ? ” 

“ By  no  means,  ’r  Grace.  Here  is  a little  mare  and  a 
little  colt,”  answered  Yukhvanka,  pointing  to  the  horses 
which  the  master  could  not  help  having  noticed. 

“ I see  that.  Now,  which  one  do  you  want  to  sell  ? ” 

“ This  one,  ’r  Grace,”  he  answered,  waving  with  the  flap 
of  his  coat  in  the  direction  of  the  drowsy  gelding,  con- 
tinually blinking,  and  twitching  his  lips.  The  gelding 
opened  his  eyes  and  lazily  turned  his  back  to  him. 

31 


32  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


“He  does  not  look  old,  and  is  apparently  a sound 
horse,1 ” said  Nekhlyudov.  “ Catch  him,  and  show  me  his 
teeth  ! I will  find  out  if  he  is  old.” 

“ It  is  impossible  for  one  person  to  catch  him,  ’r  Grace,, 
The  whole  beast  is  not  worth  a penny.  He  has  a temper : 
he  bites  and  kicks,  ’r  Grace,”  answered  Yukhvanka,  smil- 
ing merrily,  and  turning  his  eyes  in  all  directions. 

“ What  nonsense  ! Catch  him,  I tell  you  ! ” 

Yukhvanka  smiled  for  a long  time,  and  shuffled  his 
feet,  and  not  until  Nekhlyudov  cried  out  in  anger, 
“Well,  will  you?”  did  he  run  under  the  shed  and  bring 
a halter.  He  began  to  run  after  the  horse,  frightening 
him,  and  walking  up  to  him  from  behind,  and  not  in 
front. 

The  young  master  was  evidently  disgusted,  and,  no 
doubt,  wanted  to  show  his  agility.  “ Give  me  the  halter ! ” 
he  said. 

“I  pray,  ’r  Grace  ! How  can  you  ? — ” 

But  Nekhlyudov  walked  up  to  the  horse’s  head  and, 
suddenly  taking  hold  of  his  ears,  bent  it  down  with  such 
a force  that  the  gelding,  who,  as  could  be  seen,  was  a 
very  gentle,  peasant  horse,  tottered  and  groaned,  in  his  at- 
tempt to  tear  himself  away.  When  Nekhlyudov  noticed 
that  it  was  unnecessary  to  use  such  force,  and  when  he 
glanced  at  Yukhvanka,  who  did  not  cease  smiling,  the 
thought,  so  offensive  at  his  years,  occurred  to  him  that 
Yukhvanka  was  making  fun  of  him  and  mentally  regard- 
ing him  as  a child.  He  blushed,  let  the  horse  go,  and 
without  the  help  of  a halter  opened  his  mouth  and  ex- 
amined his  teeth : the  teeth  were  sound,  the  crowns  full, 
and  the  young  proprietor  was  enough  informed  to  know 
that  all  this  meant  that  the  horse  was  young. 

Yukhvanka,  in  the  meantime,  had  gone  under  the 
shed,  and,  noticing  that  the  harrow  was  not  in  place,  he 
lifted  it  and  put  it  on  edge  against  the  fence. 

“ Come  here ! ” cried  the  master,  with  an  expression  of 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  33 


childlike  annoyance  on  his  face,  and  almost  with  tears 
of  mortification  and  anger  in  his  voice.  “ Well,  you  call 
that  an  old  horse  ? ” 

“ I pray,  ’r  Grace,  he  is  very  old,  some  twenty  years 
old  — some  horses  — ” 

“Silence!  You  are  a liar  and  a good-for-nothing,  be- 
cause an  honest  peasant  would  not  lie,  — he  has  no  cause 
to  lie  ! ” said  Nekhlyudov,  choking  with  tears  of  anger, 
which  rose  in  his  throat.  He  grew  silent  in  order  not  to 
burst  out  into  tears,  and  thus  disgrace  himself  before  the 
peasant.  Yukhvanka,  too,  was  silent,  and,  with  the  ex- 
pression of  a man  who  is  ready  to  burst  into  tears,  snuffled 
and  slightly  jerked  his  head. 

“ Well,  with  what  animal  will  you  plough  your  field 
when  you  have  sold  this  horse?”  continued  Nekhlyudov, 
having  calmed  down  sufficiently  to  speak  in  his  customary 
voice.  “ You  are  purposely  sent  to  do  work  on  foot,  so  as 
to  give  your  horses  a chance  to  improve  for  the  ploughing, 
and  you  want  to  sell  your  last  horse.  But,  the  main  thing 
is,  why  do  you  lie  ? ” 

The  moment  the  master  grew  calm,  Yukhvanka  quieted 
down,  too.  He  stood  straight,  and,  still  jerking  his  lips, 
let  his  eyes  flit  from  one  object  to  another. 

“We  will  drive  out  to  work,  ’r  Grace,”  he  replied,  “ not 
worse  than  the  rest.” 

“ What  will  you  drive  with?  ” 

“ Do  not  worry,  we  will  do  the  work  of  ’r  Grace,”  he 
answered,  shouting  to  the  gelding,  and  driving  him  away. 
“ I should  not  have  thought  of  selling  him  if  I did  not 
need  the  money.” 

“ What  do  you  need  the  money  for  ? ” 

“ There  is  no  bread,  ’r  Grace,  and  I have  to  pay  my 
debts  to  the  peasants,  ’r  Grace.” 

“ How  so,  no  bread  ? How  is  it  the  others,  who  have 
families,  have  bread,  and  you,  who  have  none,  have  not 
any  ? What  has  become  of  your  grain  ? ” 


34  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


“ We  have  eaten  it  up,  and  now  not  a crumb  is  left.  1 
will  buy  a horse  in  the  fall,  ’r  Grace.” 

“ You  shall  not  dare  sell  this  horse  !” 

“ If  so,  ’r  Grace,  what  kind  of  a life  will  it  be  ? There 
is  no  bread,  and  I must  not  sell  anything,”  he  answered 
sideways,  twitching  his  lips,  and  suddenly  casting  a bold 
glance  upon  the  master’s  face.  “ It  means,  we  shall  have 
to  starve.” 

“ Look  here,  man ! ” cried  Nekhlyudov,  pale  with  anger, 
and  experiencing  a feeling  of  personal  hatred  for  the 
peasant.  “ I will  not  keep  such  peasants  as  you.  It  will 
go  hard  with  you.” 

“ Such  will  be  your  will,  ’r  Grace,”  he  answered,  cover- 
ing his  eyes  with  a feigned  expression  of  humility,  “ if  I 
have  not  served  you  right.  And  yet,  nobody  has  noticed 
any  vices  in  me.  Of  course,  if  ’r  Grace  is  displeased  with 
me,  ’r  Grace  will  do  as  you  wish ; only  I do  not  know 
why  I should  suffer.” 

“ I will  tell  you  why : because  your  yard  is  not  fenced 
in,  your  manure  not  ploughed  up,  your  fences  are 
broken,  and  you  sit  at  home  and  smoke  a pipe,  and  do  not 
work ; because  you  do  not  give  your  mother,  who  has 
turned  the  whole  farm  over  to  you,  a piece  of  bread,  and 
permit  your  wife  to  strike  her,  and  have  treated  her  so 
badly  that  she  has  come  to  me  to  complain  about  you.” 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  ’r  Grace,  I do  not  know  what  pipes 
you  are  speaking  of,”  Yukhvanka  answered,  confusedly, 
apparently  very  much  insulted  by  the  accusation  of  smok- 
ing a pipe.  “ It  is  easy  to  say  anything  about  a man.” 

“ There  you  are  lying  again  ! I saw  myself  — ” 

“ How  would  I dare  to  lie  to  ’r  Grace  ? ” 

Nekhlyudov  was  silent,  and,  biting  his  lips,  paced  the 
yard.  Yukhvanka  stood  in  one  spot  and,  without  raising 
his  eyes,  watched  his  master’s  feet. 

“ Listen,  EpiMn,”  said  Nekhlyudov,  in  a voice  of  child- 
like gentleness,  stopping  in  front  of  the  peasant,  and  en- 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  35 

deavouring  to  conceal  his  agitation.  “ Bethink  yourself. 
If  you  want  to  be  a good  peasant,  you  must  change  your 
life : leave  your  bad  habits,  stop  lying,  give  up  drinking, 
and  honour  your  mother.  I know  all  about  you.  Attend 
to  your  farm,  and  stop  stealing  timber  in  the  Crown  for- 
est and  frequenting  the  tavern ! What  good  is  there  in 
it,  think  ! If  you  have  need  of  anything,  come  to  me, 
ask  straight  out  for  what  you  need,  and  tell  why  you 
need  it,  and  do  not  lie,  but  tell  the  whole  truth,  and  I will 
not  refuse  you  anything  I can  do  for  you.” 

“ If  you  please,  ’r  Grace,  we  can  understand  ’r  Grace ! ” 
answered  Yukhvanka,  smiling,  as  if  fully  comprehending 
the  charm  of  the  master’s  jest. 

This  smile  and  reply  completely  disappointed  Nekh- 
lyudov,  who  had  hoped  to  touch  the  peasant  and  bring 
him  back  on  the  true  path  by  persuasion.  And  then,  it 
seemed  improper  for  him,  who  was  possessed  of  power,  to 
persuade  his  peasant,  and  it  seemed,  too,  that  everything 
he  said  was  not  exactly  what  he  ought  to  have  said.  He 
lowered  his  head  in  sadness  and  walked  into  the  vestibule. 
The  old  woman  was  sitting  on  the  threshold  and  groaning 
aloud,  in  order,  as  it  seemed,  to  express  her  sympathy 
with  the  master’s  words  which  she  had  heard. 

“ Here  is  some  money  for  bread,”  Nekhlyudov  whis- 
pered into  her  ear,  putting  a bill  into  her  hand.  “ Only 
buy  for  yourself,  and  do  not  give  it  to  Yukhvanka,  who 
will  spend  it  in  drinks.” 

The  old  woman  took  hold  of  the  lintel  with  her  bony 
hand,  in  order  to  rise  and  thank  the  master,  and  her  head 
began  to  shake,  but  Nekhlyudov  was  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street  when  she  rose. 


IX. 


w Dayydka  tlie  White  asked  for  grain  and  posts,”  it  said 
in  the  note-book  after  Yuklivanka. 

After  passing  several  huts,  Nekhlyudov,  in  turning  into 
a lane,  met  his  steward,  Yakov  Alpatych,  who,  upon 
noticing  his  master  at  a distance,  doffed  his  oilcloth  cap, 
and,  taking  out  his  fulled  handkerchief,  began  to  wipe  his 
fat,  red  face. 

“ Put  it  on,  Yakov  ! Yakov,  put  it  on,  I tell  you  — ” 

“ Where  have  you  been,  your  Grace  ? ” asked  Yakov, 
protecting  himself  with  his  cap  against  the  sun,  but  not 
donning  it. 

“ I have  been  at  Yukhvanka  the  Shrewd’s.  Tell  me,  if 
you  please,  what  has  made  him  so  bad,”  said  the  master, 
continuing  on  his  way. 

“ Why  so,  your  Grace  ?”  replied  the  manager,  following 
the  master  at  a respectful  distance.  He  had  put  on  his 
cap  and  was  twirling  his  moustache. 

“ Why  ? He  is  a thorough  scamp,  a lazy  man,  a thief, 
a liar ; he  torments  his  mother,  and,  so  far  as  I can  see, 
he  is  such  a confirmed  good-for-nothing  that  he  will  never 
reform.” 

“ I do  not  know,  your  Grace,  why  he  has  displeased 
you  so  much  — ” 

“And  his  wife,”  the  master  interrupted  his  manager, 
“ seems  to  be  a worthless  wench.  The  old  woman  is  clad 
worse  than  a mendicant,  and  has  nothing  to  eat,  but  she 
is  all  dressed  up,  and  so  is  he.  I really  do  not  know 
what  to  do  with  them.” 

86 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  3 T 


Yakov  was  obviously  embarrassed  when  Nekhlyudov 
spoke  of  Yukhvanka’s  wife. 

“ Well,  if  he  has  acted  like  that,  your  Grace,”  he  began, 
“ we  must  find  means.  It  is  true  he  is  indigent,  like  all 
peasants  who  are  alone,  but  he  is  taking  some  care  of 
himself,  not  like  the  others.  He  is  a clever  and  intelli- 
gent peasant,  and  passably  honest.  He  always  comes 
when  the  capitation  tax  is  collected.  And  he  has  been 
elder  for  three  years,  during  my  administration,  and  no 
fault  was  found  with  him.  In  the  third  year  it  pleased 
the  guardian  to  depose  him,  and  then  he  attended  properly 
to  his  farm.  It  is  true,  when  he  lived  at  the  post  in  town, 
he  used  to  drink  a bit,  — and  measures  must  be  taken. 
When  he  went  on  a spree,  we  threatened  him,  and  he 
came  back  to  his  senses : he  was  then  all  right,  and  in  his 
family  there  was  peace  ; but  if  you  are  not  pleased  to  take 
these  measures,  I really  do  not  know  what  to  do  with 
him.  Well,  he  has  got  very  low.  He  is  not  fit  to  be  sent 
mio  the  army  again  because,  as  you  may  have  noticed,  he 
lacks  two  teeth.  But  he  is  not  the  only  one,  I take  the 
liberty  of  reporting  to  you,  who  is  not  in  the  least  afraid  — ” 

“ Let  this  alone,  Yakov,”  answered  Nekhlyudov,  softly 
smiling;  “ we  have  talked  it  over  often  enough.  You 
know  what  I think  of  it,  and  I shall  not  change  my  mind, 
whatever  you  may  tell  me.” 

“ Of  course,  your  Grace,  all  this  is  known  to  you,”  said 
Yakov,  shrugging  his  shoulders  and  gazing  at  the  master’s 
back,  as  though  what  he  saw  did  not  promise  anything 
good.  “ But  as  to  your  troubling  yourself  about  the  old 
woman,  it  is  all  in  vain,”  he  continued.  “ It  is  true  she 
has  brought  up  the  orphans,  has  raised  and  married  off 
Yukhvanka,  and  all  that.  But  it  is  a common  rule  with 
the  peasants  that  when  a father  or  mother  transfers  the 
farm  to  the  son,  the  son  and  daughter-in-law  become  the 
masters,  and  the  old  woman  has  to  earn  her  bread  as  best 
she  can.  Of  course  they  have  not  any  tender  feelings,  but 


38  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


that  is  the  common  rule  among  peasants.  And  I take  the 
liberty  of  informing  you  that  the  old  woman  has  troubled 
you  in  vain.  She  is  a clever  old  woman  and  a good  house- 
keeper ; but  why  should  she  trouble  the  master  for  every- 
thing ? I will  admit  she  may  have  quarrelled  with  her 
daughter-in-law,  and  the  daughter-in-law  may  have  pushed 
her, — those  are  women’s  affairs.  They  might  have  made 
up  again,  without  her  troubling  you.  You  deign  to  take 
it  too  much  to  heart,”  said  the  manager,  looking  with  a 
certain  gentleness  and  condescension  at  the  master,  who 
was  silently  walking,  with  long  steps,  up  the  street  in 
front  of  him. 

“ Homeward  bound,  sir  ? ” he  asked. 

“ No,  to  Davydka  the  White,  or  Kozlov : is  not  that  his 
name  ? ” 

“ He,  too,  is  a good-for-nothing,  permit  me  to  inform 
you.  The  whole  tribe  of  the  Kozlovs  is  like  that.  No 
matter  what  you  may  do  with  them,  it  has  no  effect.  I 
drove  yesterday  over  the  peasant  field,  and  I saw  he  had 
not  sowed  any  buckwheat ; what  are  we  to  do  with  such 
a lot  ? If  only  the  old  man  taught  the  son,  but  he  is  just 
such  a good-for-nothing : he  bungles  everything,  whether 
he  works  for  himself  or  for  the  manor.  The  guardian  and 
I have  tried  everything  with  him : we  have  sent  him  to 
the  commissary’s  office,  and  have  punished  him  at  home, 
— but  you  do  not  like  that  — ” 

“ Whom,  the  old  man  ? ” 

“ The  old  man,  sir.  The  guardian  has  punished  him 
often,  and  at  the  full  gatherings  of  the  Commune;  but 
will  you  believe  it,  your  Grace,  it  had  no  effect : he  just 
shook  himself,  and  went  away,  and  did  the  same.  And  I 
must  say,  Davydka  is  a peaceful  peasant,  and  not  at  all 
stupid : he  does  not  smoke,  nor  drink,  that  is,”  explained 
Yakov,  “ he  does  something  worse  than  drink.  All  there 
is  left  to  do  is  to  send  him  to  the  army,  or  to  Siberia,  and 
nothing  else.  The  whole  tribe  of  the  Kozldvs  is  like  that. 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  39 


Matryushka,  who  lives  in  that  hovel,  also  belongs  to  their 
family,  and  is  the  same  kind  of  an  accursed  good-for-noth- 
ing. So  you  do  not  need  me,  your  Grace  ? ” added  the 
manager,  noticing  that  the  master  was  not  listening  to  him. 

“No,  you  may  go,”  Nekhlyudov  answered,  absent- 
mindedly,  and  directed  his  steps  to  Davydka  the  White. 

Davydka’s  hut  stood  crooked  and  alone  at  the  edge  of 
the  village.  Near  it  was  no  yard,  no  kiln,  no  barn ; only 
a few  dirty  stalls  clung  to  one  side  of  it : on  the  other 
were  heaped  in  a pile  wattles  and  timber  that  were  to  be 
used  for  the  yard.  Tall,  green  steppe-grass  grew  in  the 
place  where  formerly  had  been  the  yard.  There  was  not 
a living  being  near  the  hut,  except  a pig  that  lay  in  the 
mud  in  front  of  the  threshold,  and  squealed. 

Nekhlyudov  knocked  at  the  broken  window;  but,  as 
nobody  answered  him,  he  walked  up  to  the  vestibule  and 
shouted:  “Ho  there!”  Nobody  replied.  He  walked 
through  the  vestibule,  looked  into  the  empty  stalls,  and 
walked  through  the  open  door  into  the  hut. 

An  old  red  cock  and  two  hens  promenaded  over  the 
floor  and  benches,  jerking  their  crops,  and  clattering  with 
their  claws.  When  they  saw  a man,  they  fluttered  with 
wide-spread  wings  against  the  walls  with  a clucking  of 
despair,  and  one  of  them  flew  upon  the  oven. 

The  eighteen-foot  hut  was  all  occupied  by  the  oven 
with  a broken  pipe,  a weaver’s  loom  which  had  not  been 
removed  in  spite  of  summer,  and  a begrimed  table  with  a 
warped  and  cracked  board.  Though  it  was  dry  without, 
there  was  a dirty  puddle  near  the  threshold  which  had 
been  formed  at  a previous  rain  by  a leak  in  the  ceiling 
and  roof.  There  were  no  beds.  It  was  hard  to  believe 
that  this  was  an  inhabited  place,  there  was  such  a de- 
cided aspect  of  neglect  and  disorder,  both  inside  and  out- 
side the  hut;  and  yet  Davydka  the  White  lived  in  it 
with  his  whole  family.  At  that  particular  moment,  in 
spite  of  the  heat  of  the  June  day,  Davydka  lay,  his 


40  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 

head  wrapped  in  a sheepskin  half-coat,  on  the  corner  of 
the  oven,  fast  asleep.  The  frightened  hen,  which  had 
alighted  on  the  oven  and  had  not  yet  calmed  down,  was 
walking  over  Davydka’ s back,  without  waking  him. 

Not  finding  any  one  in  the  hut,  Nekhlyudov  was  on 
the  point  of  leaving,  when  a protracted,  humid  sigh  be- 
trayed the  peasant. 

“ Oh,  who  is  there  ? ” cried  the  master. 

On  the  oven  was  heard  another  protracted  sigh. 

“ Who  is  there  ? Come  here  ! ” 

Another  sigh,  a growl,  and  a loud  yawn  were  the  answer 
to  the  master's  call. 

“ Well,  will  you  come  ? ” 

Something  stirred  on  the  oven.  There  appeared  the 
flap  of  a worn-out  sheepskin ; a big  foot  in  a torn  bast 
shoe  came  down,  then  another,  and  finally  the  whole 
form  of  Davydka  the  White  sat  up  on  the  oven,  and 
lazily  and  discontentedly  rubbed  his  eyes  with  his  large 
fist.  He  slowly  bent  his  head,  yawned,  gazed  at  the  hut, 
and,  when  he  espied  the  master,  began  to  turn  around  a 
little  faster  than  before,  but  still  so  leisurely  that  Nekh- 
lyudov had  sufficient  time  to  pace  three  times  the  distance 
from  the  puddle  to  the  loom,  before  Davydka  got  off  the 
oven. 

Davydka  the  White  was  actually  white ; his  hair,  his 
body,  and  face,  — everything  was  exceedingly  white.  He 
was  tall  and  very  stout,  that  is,  stout  like  a peasant,  with 
his  whole  body,  and  not  merely  with  his  belly ; but  it 
was  a flabby,  unhealthy  obesity.  His  fairly  handsome 
face,  with  its  dark  blue,  calm  eyes  and  broad,  long  beard, 
bore  the  imprint  of  infirmity.  There  was  neither  tan 
nor  ruddiness  in  his  face;  it  was  of  a pale,  sallow  com- 
plexion, with  a light  violet  shade  under  his  eyes,  and 
looked  suffused  with  fat,  and  swollen.  His  hands  were 
swollen  and  sallow,  like  those  of  people  who  suffer  with 
the  dropsy,  and  were  covered  with  fine  white  hair.  He 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  41 


was  so  sleepy  that  he  could  not  open  his  eyes  wide,  nor 
stand  still,  without  tottering  and  yawning. 

“ Are  you  not  ashamed,”  began  Nekhlyudov,  “to  sleep 
in  bright  daylight,  when  you  ought  to  build  a yard,  and 
when  you  have  no  grain  ? ” 

As  soon  as  Davydka  came  to  his  senses,  and  began  to 
understand  that  the  master  was  standing  before  him,  he 
folded  his  hands  over  his  abdomen,  lowered  his  head, 
turning  it  a little  to  one  side,  and  did  not  stir  a limb. 
He  was  silent;  but  the  expression  of  his  face  and  the 
attitude  of  his  whole  form  said,  “ I know,  I know,  it  is 
not  the  first  time  I hear  that.  Beat  me  if  you  must,  — 
I will  bear  it.” 

It  looked  as  though  he  wanted  the  master  to  stop 
talking  and  to  start  beating  him  at  once ; to  strike  him 
hard  on  his  cheeks,  but  to  leave  him  in  peace  as  soon  as 
possible. 

When  Nekhlyudov  noticed  that  Davydka  did  not 
understand  him,  he  tried  with  various  questions  to  rouse 
the  peasant  from  his  servile  and  patient  silence. 

“ Why  did  you  ask  me  for  timber  when  you  have  had 
some  lying  here  for  a month,  and  that,  too,  when  you 
have  most  time  your  own,  eh  ? ” 

Davydka  kept  stubborn  silence,  and  did  not  stir. 

“ Well,  answer  ! ” 

Davydka  muttered  something,  and  blinked  with  his 
white  eyelashes. 

“ But  you  must  work,  my  dear : what  will  happen 
without  work  ? Now,  you  have  no  grain,  and  why  ? 
Because  your  land  is  badly  ploughed,  and  has  not  been 
harrowed,  and  was  sowed  in  too  late,  — all  on  account  of 
laziness.  You  ask  me  for  grain : suppose  I give  it  to 
you,  because  you  must  not  starve ! It  will  not  do  to  act 
in  this  way.  Whose  grain  am  I giving  you  ? What  do 
you  think,  whose  ? Answer  me  : whose  grain  am  I giving 
you  ?”  Nekhlyudov  stubbornly  repeated  his  question. 


42  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 

“ The  manorial,' ” mumbled  Dav^dka,  timidly  and  ques- 
tioningly  raising  his  eyes. 

“ And  where  does  the  manorial  grain  come  from  ? 
Think  of  it : who  has  ploughed  the  field  ? Who  has  har- 
rowed it  ? Who  has  sowed  it  in,  and  garnered  it  ? The 
peasants  ? Is  it  not  so  ? So  you  see,  if  I am  to  give 
the  manorial  grain  to  the  peasants,  I ought  to  give  more 
to  those  who  have  worked  more  for  it;  but  you  have 
worked  less,  and  they  complain  of  you  at  the  manor ; 
you  have  worked  less,  and  you  ask  more.  Why  should 
I give  to  you,  and  not  to  others  ? If  all  were  lying  on 
their  sides  and  sleeping,  as  you  are  doing,  we  should  all 
have  starved  long  ago.  We  must  work,  my  friend,  but 
this  is  bad,  — do  you  hear,  Davyd  ? ” 

“ I hear,  sir,”  he  slowly  muttered  through  his  teeth. 


X. 


Just  then  the  head  of  a peasant  woman  carrying  linen 
on  a yoke  flashed  by  the  window,  and  a minute  later 
Davjfdka’s  mother  entered  the  hut.  She  was  a tall 
woman  of  about  fifty  years,  and  was  well  preserved  and 
active.  Her  pockmarked  and  wrinkled  face  was  not 
handsome,  but  her  straight,  firm  nose,  her  compressed  thin 
lips,  and  her  keen  gray  eyes  expressed  intelligence  and 
energy.  The  angularity  of  her  shoulders,  the  flatness  of 
her  bosom,  the  bony  state  of  her  hands,  and  the  well- 
developed  muscles  on  her  black  bare  feet  witnessed  to 
the  fact  that  she  had  long  ceased  to  be  a woman,  and 
was  only  a labourer. 

She  entered  boldly  into  the  room,  closed  the  door, 
pulled  down  her  skirt,  and  angrily  looked  at  her  son. 
Nekhlyudov  wanted  to  tell  her  something,  but  she  turned 
away  from  him,  and  began  to  make  the  signs  of  the 
cross  before  a black  wooden  image  that  peered  out  from 
behind  the  loom.  Having  finished  her  devotion,  she 
straightened  out  her  dirty  checkered  kerchief  in  which 
her  head  was  wrapped,  and  made  a low  obeisance  before 
the  master. 

“A  pleasant  Lord’s  Day  to  your  Grace,”  she  said. 
“ May  God  preserve  you,  our  father  — ! ” 

When  Davydka  saw  his  mother  he  evidently  became 
embarrassed,  bent  his  back  a little,  and  lowered  his  neck 
even  more. 

“ Thank  you,  Anna,”  answered  Nekhlyudov.  “ I have 
just  been  speaking  with  your  son  about  your  farm.” 

43 


44  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


Anna,  or,  as  the  peasants  had  called  her  when  she  was 
still  a maiden,  Arishka-Burlak,1  supported  her  chin  with 
the  fist  of  her  right  hand,  which,  in  its  turn,  was  resting 
on  the  palm  of  her  left  hand ; and,  without  hearing  what 
the  master  had  still  to  say,  began  to  speak  in  such  a pen- 
etrating and  loud  voice  that  the  whole  hut  was  filled  with 
sound,  and  in  the  street  it  might  have  appeared  that  sev- 
eral women  were  speaking  at  the  same  time. 

“ What  use,  father,  is  there  of  speaking  to  him  ? He 
can’t  eveu  speak  like  a man.  There  he  stands,  block- 
head,” she  continued,  contemptuously  pointing  with  her 
head  to  Davydka’s  wretched,  massive  figure.  “ My  farm, 
your  Grace  ? We  are  mendicants;  there  are  no  people  in 
your  whole  village  more  wretched : we  have  neither  of 
our  own,  nor  anything  for  the  manorial  dues  — a shame ! 
He  has  brought  us  to  all  this.  I bore  him,  raised,  and 
fed  him,  and  with  anticipation  waited  for  him  to  grow  up. 
Here  he  is : the  grain  is  bursting,  but  there  is  no  more 
work  in  him  than  in  this  rotten  log.  All  he  knows  how 
to  do  is  to  lie  on  the  oven,  or  to  stand  and  scratch  his 
stupid  head,”  she  said,  mocking  him.  “ If  you,  father, 
could  threaten  him  somehow ! I beg  you : punish  him 
for  the  Lord’s  sake ; send  him  to  the  army,  and  make  an 
end  of  it.  I have  lost  my  patience  with  him,  I tell 
you.” 

“How  is  it  you  are  not  ashamed,  Dav^dka,  to  bring 
your  mother  to  such  a state  ? ” said  Nekhlyiidov,  re- 
proachfully turning  to  the  peasant. 

Davydka  did  not  budge. 

“ It  would  be  different  if  he  were  a sickly  man,”  Arina 
continued,  with  the  same  vivacity  and  gestures,  “ but  you 
look  at  him,  he  is  fatter  than  a mill  pig.  He  is  a good- 
looking  chap,  fit  enough  to  work ! But  no,  he  lies  like  a 
lubber  all  day  on  the  oven.  My  eyes  get  tired  looking 
when  he  undertakes  to  do  something ; when  he  rises,  or 
1 Burtek  is  a labourer  towing  boats  up  the  Vblga. 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  45 

moves,  or  anything,”  she  said,  drawling  her  words  and 
awkwardly  turning  her  angular  shoulders  from  side  to 
side.  “ Now,  for  example,  to-day  the  old  man  has  gone 
for  brushwood  into  the  forest,  and  he  has  told  him  to  dig 
holes ; but  no,  not  he,  he  has  not  had  the  spade  in  his 
hands  — ” She  grew  silent  for  a moment.  “He  has 
undone  me,  abandoned  woman  ! ” she  suddenly  whined, 
waving  her  hands,  and  walking  up  to  her  son  with  a 
threatening  gesture.  “Your  smooth,  good-for-nothing 
snout,  the  Lord  forgive  me ! ” 

She  turned  away  contemptuously  and  in  despair  from 
him,  spit  out,  and  again  turned  to  the  master,  continuing 
to  wave  her  hands,  with  the  same  animation  and  with 
tears  in  her  eyes : 

“ I am  all  alone,  benefactor.  My  old  man  is  sick  and 
old,  and  there  is  little  good  in  him,  and  I am  all  sole 
alone.  It  is  enough  to  make  a stone  burst.  It  would  be 
easier  if  I just  could  die ; that  would  be  the  end.  He  has 
worn  me  out,  that  rascal ! Our  father  ! I have  no  more 
strength ! My  daughter-in-law  died  from  work,  and  I 
shall,  too.” 


XI. 


“ What,  died?”  Nekhlyudov  asked,  incredulously. 

“ She  died  from  exertion,  benefactor,  as  God  is  holy. 
We  took  her  two  years  ago  from  Baburin,”  she  continued, 
suddenly  changing  her  angry  expression  to  one  of  tearful- 
ness and  sadness.  “ She  was  a young,  healthy,  obedient 
woman,  father.  She  had  lived,  as  a maiden,  in  plenty,  at 
her  father's  home,  and  had  experienced  no  want ; but 
when  she  came  to  us,  and  had  to  do  the  work,  — in  the 
manor  and  at  home,  and  everywhere — She  and  I,  that 
was  all  there  was.  To  me  it  did  not  matter  much.  I am 
used  to  it,  but  she  was  pregnant,  and  began  to  suffer;  and 
she  worked  all  the  while  beyond  her  strength,  until  she, 
my  dear  girl,  overworked  herself.  Last  year,  during  St. 
Peter's  Fast,  she,  to  her  misfortune,  bore  a boy,  and  there 
was  no  bread ; we  barely  managed  to  pick  up  something, 
father ; the  hard  work  was  on  hand,  and  her  breasts  dried 
up.  It  was  her  first-born,  there  was  no  cow,  and  we  are 
peasant  people,  and  it  is  not  for  us  to  bring  up  children 
on  the  bottle ; and,  of  course,  she  was  a foolish  woman, 
and  worried  her  life  away.  And  when  her  baby  died,  she 
cried  and  cried  from  sorrow,  and  sobbed  and  sobbed,  my 
darling,  and  there  was  want,  and  work,  ever  worse  and 
worse ; she  wore  herself  out  all  summer,  and  died,  my 
darling,  on  the  day  of  St.  Mary's  Intercession.  It  is  he 
who  has  undone  her,  beast ! ” She  again  turned  to  her  son 
with  the  anger  of  despair.  “ I wanted  to  ask  you,  your 
Grace,''  she  continued  after  a short  silence,  lowering  her 
head,  and  bowing. 


ga 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  47 


“ What  is  it  ? ” Nekhlyudov  asked  absent-mindedly,  still 
agitated  by  her  recital. 

“ He  is  a young  man  yet.  You  can’t  expect  much  work 
from  me ; to-day  I am  alive,  to-morrow  dead.  How  can 
he  be  without  a wife  ? He  will  not  be  a peasant,  if  he  is 
not  married.  Have  pity  on  us,  father.” 

“ That  is,  you  want  to  marry  him  off?  Well  ?” 

“ Do  us  this  favour  before  God ! You  are  our  father 
and  mother.” 

She  gave  her  son  a sign,  and  both  dropped  on  the 
ground  before  their  master’s  feet. 

“ Why  do  you  make  these  earth  obeisances  ? ” said 
Nekhlyudov,  angrily  raising  her  by  her  shoulder.  “ Can’t 
you  tell  it  without  doing  so  ? You  know  that  I do  not 
like  it.  Marry  off  your  son,  if  you  wish.  I should  be 
glad  to  hear  that  you  have  a bride  in  view.” 

The  old  woman  rose,  and  began  to  wipe  off  her  dry 
eyes  with  her  sleeve.  Davydka  followed  her  example, 
and,  having  wiped  his  eyes  with  his  dry  fist,  continued  to 
stand  in  the  same  patient  and  subservient  attitude  as 
before,  and  to  listen  to  what  Anna  was  saying. 

“ There  is  a bride,  why  not  ? Mikh^y’s  Vasyutku  is  a 
likely  enough  girl,  but  she  will  not  marry  him  without 
your  will.” 

“ Does  she  not  consent  ? ” 

“ No,  benefactor,  not  if  it  comes  to  consenting.” 

“ Well,  then  what  is  to  be  done  ? I cannot  compel 
her ; look  for  another  girl,  if  not  here,  elsewhere ; I will 
buy  her  out,  as  long  as  she  will  give  her  own  consent, 
but  you  can’t  marry  by  force.  There  is  no  law  for  that, 
and  it  would  be  a great  sin.” 

“ 0 benefactor ! But  is  it  likely  that  any  girl  would 
be  willing  to  marry  him,  seeing  our  manner  of  life  and 
poverty  ? Even  a soldier’s  wife  would  not  wish  to  take 
upon  herself  such  misery.  What  peasant  will  be  willing 
to  give  his  daughter  to  us  ? The  most  desperate  man  will 


48  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


not  give  his.  We  are  mendicants,  and  nothing  else. 
They  will  say  that  we  have  starved  one  woman,  and 
would  do  so  with  their  daughter.  Who  will  give  his  ? ” 
she  added,  skeptically  shaking  her  head.  “ Consider  this, 
your  Grace.” 

“ But  what  can  I do  ? ” 

“ Think  of  some  plan  for  us,  father  ! ” Anna  repeated, 
persuasively.  “ What  are  we  to  do  ? ” 

“ What  plan  can  I find  ? I can  do  nothing  for  you  in 
this  matter.” 

“ Who  will  do  something  for  us,  if  not  you  ? ” said 
Anna,  dropping  her  head,  and  waving  her  hands  with  an 
expression  of  sad  perplexity. 

“ You  have  asked  for  grain,  and  I will  order  it  to  be 
given  to  you,”  said  the  master,  after  a short  silence,  during 
which  Arina  drew  deep  breaths  and  Dav^dka  seconded 
her.  “ That  is  all  I can  do.” 

Nekhlyudov  stepped  into  the  vestibule.  The  woman 
and  her  son  followed  the  master,  bowing. 


XIX 


“ 0 my  orphanhood ! ” said  Anna,  drawing  a deep 
breath. 

She  stopped,  and  angrily  looked  at  her  son.  Dav^dka 
immediately  wheeled  around  and,  with  difficulty  lifting 
his  fat  leg,  in  an  immense  dirty  hast  shoe,  over  the 
threshold,  was  lost  in  the  opposite  door. 

“ What  am  I going  to  do  with  him,  father  ? ” continued 
Arina,  turning  to  the  master.  “ You  see  yourself  what  he 
is  ! He  is  not  a bad  peasant : he  does  not  drink,  is  peace- 
ful, and  would  not  harm  a child,  — it  would  be  a sin  to 
say  otherwise  ; there  is  nothing  bad  about  him,  and  God 
only  knows  what  it  is  that  has  befallen  him  that  he  has 
become  his  own  enemy.  He  himself  is  not  satisfied  with 
it.  Really,  father,  it  makes  my  heart  bleed  when  I see 
how  he  worries  about  it  himself.  Such  as  he  is,  my  womb 
has  borne  him  ; I am  sorry,  very  sorry  for  him ! He 
would  do  no  harm  to  me,  or  his  father,  or  the  authorities  ; 
he  is  a timid  man,  I might  say,  like  a child.  How  can  he 
remain  a widower  ? Do  something  for  us,  benefactor/’ 
she  repeated,  evidently  trying  to  correct  the  bad  impres- 
sion which  her  scolding  might  have  produced  on  the 
master.  “ Your  Grace,”  she  continued,  in  a confidential 
whisper,  “ I have  reasoned  this  way  and  that  way,  but 
I can’t  make  out  what  has  made  him  so.  It  cannot  be 
otherwise  but  that  evil  people  have  bewitched  him.” 

She  was  silent  for  a moment. 

“ If  the  man  could  be  found,  he  might  be  cured.” 

49 


50  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


x<  What  nonsense  you  are  talking,  Anna  ! How  can 
one  bewitch  ? ” 

“ Father,  they  can  bewitch  so  as  to  make  one  a no-man 
for  all  his  life  ! There  are  many  evil  people  in  the  world  ! 
Out  of  malice  they  take  out  a handful  of  earth  in  one's 
track  — or  something  else  — and  one  is  a no-man  for 
ever.  It  is  easy  to  sin ! I have  been  thinking  of  going 
to  see  old  man  Dunduk,  who  lives  at  Yorob^vka:  he 
knows  all  kinds  of  incantations,  and  he  knows  herbs,  and 
he  takes  away  the  evil  eye,  and  draws  the  dropsy  out  of 
the  spine.  Maybe  he  will  help  ! ” said  the  woman. 
“ Maybe  he  will  cure  him  ! ” 

“ Now  that  is  wretchedness  and  ignorance ! ” thought 
the  young  master,  sorrowfully  bending  his  head,  and 
walking  with  long  strides  down  the  village.  “What 
shall  I do  with  him  ? It  is  impossible  to  leave  him  in 
this  state,  on  my  account,  and  as  an  example  for  others, 
and  for  his  own  sake,"  he  said  to  himself,  counting  out 
the  causes  on  his  fingers.  “ I cannot  see  him  in  this  con- 
dition, but  how  am  I to  take  him  out  of  it  ? He  destroys 
all  my  best  plans  for  the  estate.  If  such  peasants  are 
left  in  it,  my  dreams  will  never  be  fulfilled,"  he  thought, 
experiencing  mortification  and  anger  against  the  peasant 
for  destroying  his  plans.  “ Shall  I send  him  as  a settler 
to  Siberia,  as  Yakov  says,  when  he  does  not  want  to  be 
well  off,  or  into  the  army  ? That's  it.  I shall  at  least 
be  rid  of  him,  and  shall  thus  save  a good  peasant,” 
he  reflected. 

He  thought  of  it  with  delight ; at  the  same  time  a cer- 
tain indistinct  consciousness  told  him  that  he  was  think- 
ing with  one  side  of  his  reason  only,  and  something  was 
wrong.  He  stopped.  “ Wait,  what  am  I thinking  about  ? ” 
he  said  to  himself ; “ yes,  into  the  army,  to  Siberia.  For 
what  ? He  is  a good  man,  better  than  many  others,  and 
how  do  I know — Give  him  his  liberty?”  he  reflected, 
considering  the  question  not  with  one  side  of  his  reason 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  51 

only,  as  before.  “ It  is  unjust,  and  impossible.”  Sud- 
denly a thought  came  to  him  that  gave  him  great  pleasure  ; 
he  smiled,  with  the  expression  of  a man  who  has  solved  a 
difficult  problem.  “I  will  take  him  to  the  manor,”  he 
said  to  himself.  “ I will  watch  over  him  myself,  and  with 
gentleness  and  persuasion,  and  proper  selection  of  occupa- 
tions, accustom  him  to  work,  ~^d  reform  him.” 


KW 


“ I will  do  so,”  Nekhlyudov  said  to  himself  with 
cheerful  self-satisfaction,  and,  recalling  that  he  had  to 
visit  yet  the  rich  peasant,  Dutlov,  he  directed  his  steps  to 
a tall  and  spacious  building,  with  two  chimneys,  which 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  village.  As  he  was  getting 
near  it,  he  met,  near  the  neighbouring  hut,  a tall,  slatternly 
woman,  of  some  forty  years  of  age,  who  came  out  to 
see  him. 

“ A pleasant  holiday,  sir,”  the  woman  said,  without  the 
least  timidity,  stopping  near  him,  smiling  pleasantly,  and 
bowing. 

“ Good  morning,  nurse,”  he  answered.  “ How  are  you 
getting  on  ? I am  going  to  see  your  neighbour.” 

“ Yes,  your  Grace,  that  is  good.  But  why  do  you  not 
deign  to  call  on  us  ? My  old  man  would  be  ever  so 
happy  to  see  you.” 

“ Well,  I will  come  in,  to  talk  with  you,  nurse.  Is  this 
your  hut  ? ” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

And  the  nurse  ran  ahead.  Nekhlyudov  walked  after 
her  into  the  vestibule,  sat  down  on  a pail,  took  out  a 
cigarette,  and  lighted  it. 

“ It  is  hot  there ; let  us  stay  here  and  talk,”  he  answered 
to  the  nurse’s  invitation  to  walk  into  the  hut. 

The  nurse  was  still  in  her  prime,  and  a fine-looking 
woman.  In  her  features,  and  especially  in  her  large  black 
eyes,  there  was  a great  resemblance  to  the  master’s  face. 
She  put  her  hands  under  her  apron,  and,  boldly  looking 

52 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  53 


at  the  master  and  continually  shaking  her  head,  began 
to  speak  with  him : 

“ What  is  the  reason,  sir,  you  are  honouring  Dutlov 
with  a visit  ? ” 

“ I want  him  to  rent  from  me  thirty  desyatinas 1 of  land, 
and  start  a farm  of  his  own,  and  also  to  buy  some  tim- 
ber with  me.  He  has  money,  — why  should  it  lie  idle  ? 
What  do  you  think  about  that,  nurse  ? ” 

“Well!  Of  course,  sir,  the  Dutlovs  are  powerful  people. 
I suppose  he  is  the  first  peasant  in  the  whole  estate,” 
answered  the  nurse,  nodding  her  head.  “ Last  year  he 
added  a new  structure  out  of  his  own  timber,  — he  did 
not  trouble  the  master.  Of  horses,  there  will  be  some  six 
sets  of  three,  outside  of  colts  and  yearlings ; and  of  stock, 
there  are  so  many  cows  and  sheep  that  when  they  drive 
them  home  from  the  field,  and  the  women  go  out  to 
drive  them  into  the  yard,  there  is  a terrible  crush  at  the 
gate ; and  of  bees,  there  must  be  two  hundred  hives,  and 
maybe  more.  He  is  a powerful  peasant,  he  must  have 
money,  too.” 

“ Do  you  think  he  has  much  money  ? ” the  master 
asked. 

“ People  say,  of  course,  out  of  malice,  that  the  man  has 
a great  deal ; naturally,  he  would  not  tell,  nor  would  he 
let  his  sons  know,  but  he  must  have.  Why  should  he  not 
put  his  money  out  for  a forest  ? Unless  he  should  be 
afraid  to  let  out  the  rumour  about  having  money.  Some 
five  years  ago  he  invested  a little  money  in  bottom  meadows 
with  Shkalik  the  porter;  but  I think  Shkalik  cheated 
him,  so  that  the  old  man  was  out  of  three  hundred  roubles  ; 
since  then  he  has  given  it  up.  And  why  should  he  not 
be  well  fixed,  your  Grace,”  continued  the  nurse,  “he  is 
living  on  three  parcels  of  land,  the  family  is  large,  all 
workers,  and  the  old  man  himself  — there  is  nothing  to 
be  said  against  him  — is  a fine  manager.  He  has  luck  in 
1 A desyatlna  is  equal  to  2,400  square  fathoms. 


54  A MORNING  OP  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 

everything,  so  that  the  people  are  all  wondering ; he  has 
luck  with  the  grain,  with  the  horses,  the  cattle,  the  bees, 
and  his  children.  He  has  married  them  all  off.  He 
found  wives  for  them  among  his  own,  and  now  he  has 
married  Ilyushka  to  a free  girl,  — he  has  himself  paid  for 
her  emancipation.  And  she  has  turned  out  to  be  a fine 
woman.” 

“ Do  they  live  peaceably  ? ” asked  the  master. 

“As  long  as  there  is  a real  head  in  the  house,  there 
will  be  peace.  Though  with  the  Dutlovs  it  is  as  else- 
where with  women : the  daughters-in-law  quarrel  behind 
the  oven,  yet  the  sons  live  peacefully  together  under  the 
old  man.” 

The  nurse  grew  silent  for  a moment. 

“ Now  the  old  man  wants  to  make  his  eldest  son,  Karp, 
the  master  of  the  house.  He  says  he  is  getting  too  old 
and  that  his  business  is  with  the  bees.  Well,  Karp  is  a 
good  man,  an  accurate  man,  but  he  will  not  be  such  a 
manager  as  the  old  man,  by  a good  deal.  He  has  not  his 
intellect/' 

“Maybe  Karp  will  be  willing  to  take  up  land  and 
forests,  what  do  you  think  ? ” said  the  master,  wishing  to 
find  out  from  his  nurse  what  she  knew  about  her  neigh- 
bours. 

“ I doubt  it,  sir,"  continued  the  nurse ; “ the  old  man 
has  not  disclosed  his  money  to  his  son.  As  long  as  the 
old  man  is  alive,  and  the  money  is  in  his  house,  his  mind 
will  direct  affairs ; besides,  they  are  more  interested  in 
teaming." 

“ And  the  old  man  will  not  consent  ? ” 

“ He  will  be  afraid." 

“ What  will  he  be  afraid  of  ? " 

“ How  can  a manorial  peasant  declare  his  money,  sir  ? 
There  might  be  an  unlucky  hour,  and  all  his  money  would 
be  lost ! There,  he  went  into  partnership  with  the  porter, 
and  he  made  a mistake.  How  could  he  sue  him  ? And 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  55 


thus  the  money  was  all  lost ; and  with  the  proprietor  it 
would  be  lost  without  appeal.,, 

“ Yes,  on  this  account  — ” said  Nekhlyudov,  blushing. 
Good-bye,  nurse.” 

“ Good-bye,  your  Grace.  I thank  you  humbly.” 


XIV. 


“ Had  I not  better  go  home  ? ” thought  Nekhlyudov, 
walking  up  to  Dutlov’s  gate,  and  feeling  an  indefinable 
melancholy  and  moral  fatigue. 

Just  then  the  new  plank  gate  opened  before  him  with 
a creak,  and  a fine-looking,  ruddy,  light-complexioned  lad, 
of  about  eighteen  years  of  age,  in  driver’s  attire,  appeared 
in  the  gateway,  leading  behind  him  a set  of  three  stout- 
legged, sweaty,  shaggy  horses ; boldly  shaking  his  flaxen 
hair,  he  bowed  to  the  master. 

“ Is  your  father  at  home,  Ilya?”  asked  Nekhlyudov. 

“ He  is  with  the  bees,  back  of  the  yard,”  answered  the 
lad,  leading  one  horse  after  another  through  the  half-open 
gate. 

“No,  I will  stick  to  my  determination;  I will  make 
the  proposition  to  him,  and  will  do  my  part,”  thought 
Nekhlyudov,  and,  letting  the  horses  pass  by,  he  went  into 
Dutlov’s  spacious  yard.  He  could  see  that  the  manure 
had  lately  been  removed : the  earth  was  still  black  and 
sweaty,  and  in  places,  particularly  near  the  gate,  lay 
scattered  red-fibred  shreds.  In  the  yard,  and  under  the 
high  sheds,  stood  in  good  order  many  carts,  ploughs, 
sleighs,  blocks,  tubs,  and  all  kinds  of  peasant  possessions. 
Pigeons  flitted  to  and  fro  and  cooed  in  the  shade  under 
the  broad,  solid  rafters.  There  was  an  odour  of  manure 
and  tar. 

In  one  corner  Karp  and  Ignat  were  fixing  a new  tran- 
som-bed on  a large,  three-horse,  steel-rimmed  cart.  Dut- 
ldv’s  three  sons  resembled  each  other  very  much.  The 

56 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  57 


youngest,  Ilya,  whom  Nekhlyudov  had  met  in  the  gate, 
had  no  beard,  and  was  smaller,  ruddier,  and  more  fop- 
pishly clad  than  the  other  two.  The  second,  Ignat,  was 
taller,  more  tanned,  had  a pointed  beard,  and,  although 
he  too  wore  boots,  a driver’s  shirt,  and  a lambskin  cap,  he 
did  not  have  the  careless,  holiday  aspect  of  his  younger 
brother.  The  eldest,  Karp,  was  taller  still,  wore  bast 
shoes,  a gray  caftan,  and  a shirt  without  gussets ; he  had 
a long  red  beard,  and  looked  not  only  solemn,  but  even 
gloomy. 

“ Do  you  command  me  to  send  for  father,  your  Grace  ? ” 
he  said,  walking  up  to  the  master  and  bowing  slightly 
and  awkwardly. 

“No,  I will  go  myself  to  the  apiary ; I wish  to  look  at 
his  arrangement  of  it ; but  I want  to  talk  with  you,”  said 
Nekhlyudov,  walking  over  to  the  other  end  of  the  yard, 
so  that  Ignat  might  not  hear  what  he  was  going  to  say  to 
Karp. 

The  self-confidence  and  a certain  pride,  which  were 
noticeable  in  the  whole  manner  of  these  two  peasants, 
and  that  which  his  nurse  had  told  him,  so  embarrassed 
the  young  master  that  he  found  it  hard  to  make  up  his 
mind  to  tell  him  of  the  matter  in  hand.  He  felt  as 
though  he  were  guilty  of  something ; and  it  was  easier  for 
him  to  speak  to  one  of  the  brothers,  without  being  heard 
by  the  other.  Karp  looked  somewhat  surprised  at  being 
asked  by  the  master  to  step  aside,  but  he  followed  him. 

“ It  is  this,”  began  Nekhlyudov,  hesitating,  “ I wanted 
to  ask  you  how  many  horses  you  had.” 

“ There  will  be  some  five  sets  of  three ; there  are  also 
some  colts,”  Karp  answered,  freely,  scratching  his  back. 

“Do  your  brothers  drive  the  stage  ? ” 

“We  drive  the  stage  with  three  troykas.  Ilyushka 
has  been  doing  some  hauling ; he  has  just  returned.” 

“ Do  you  find  that  profitable  ? How  much  do  you  earn 
in  this  manner  ? ” 


68  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


“ What  profit  can  there  be,  your  Grace  ? We  just  feed 
ourselves  and  the  horses,  and  God  be  thanked  for  that/' 

“ Then  why  do  you  not  busy  yourselves  with  some- 
thing else  ? You  might  buy  some  forest  or  rent  some 
land  ” 

“ Of  course,  your  Grace,  we  might  rent  some  land,  if  it 
came  handy.” 

“ This  is  what  I want  to  propose  to  you.  What  is  the 
use  of  teaming,  just  to  earn  your  feed,  when  you  can  rent 
some  thirty  desyatlnas  of  me  ? I will  let  you  have  the 
whole  parcel  which  lies  behind  Sapov’s,  and  you  can  start 
a large  farm” 

Nekhlyudov  was  now  carried  away  by  his  plan  of  a 
peasant  farm,  which  he  had  thought  over  and  recited 
to  himself  more  than  once,  and  he  began  to  expound  to 
Karp,  without  stammering,  his  plan  of  a peasant  farm. 
Karp  listened  attentively  to  the  words  of  the  master. 

“ We  are  very  well  satisfied  with  your  favour,”  he  said, 
when  Nekhlyudov  stopped  and  looked  at  him,  expecting 
an  answer.  “ Of  course,  there  is  nothing  bad  in  this.  It 
is  better  for  a peasant  to  attend  to  the  soil  than  to  flourish 
his  whip.  Peasants  of  our  kind  get  easily  spoilt,  when 
they  travel  among  strange  men,  and  meet  all  kinds  of 
people.  There  is  nothing  better  for  a peasant  than  to 
busy  himself  with  the  land.” 

“ What  do  you  think  of  it,  then  ? ” 

“ As  long  as  father  is  alive,  your  Grace,  there  is  no  use 
in  my  thinking.  His  will  decides.” 

“ Take  me  to  the  apiary ; I will  talk  to  him.” 

“This  way,  if  you  please,”  said  Karp,  slowly  turning 
toward  the  barn  in  the  back  of  the  yard.  He  opened  a 
low  gate  which  led  to  the  beehives,  and,  letting  the  mas- 
ter walk  through  it,  and  closing  it,  he  walked  up  to  Igndt, 
and  resumed  his  interrupted  work. 


XV. 


Nekhlyudov  bent  his  head,  and  passed  through  the  low 
gate  underneath  the  shady  shed  to  the  apiary,  which  was 
back  of  the  yard.  The  small  space,  surrounded  by  straw 
and  a wicker  fence  which  admitted  the  sunlight,  where 
stood  symmetrically  arranged  the  beehives,  covered  with 
small  boards,  and  surrounded  by  golden  bees  circling  nois- 
ily about  them,  was  all  bathed  in  the  hot,  brilliant  rays 
of  the  June  sun. 

A well-trodden  path  led  from  the  gate  through  the 
middle  of  the  apiary  to  a wooden-roofed  cross  with  a 
brass-foil  image  upon  it,  which  shone  glaringly  in  the  sun. 
A few  stately  linden-trees,  which  towered  with  their  curly 
tops  above  the  straw  thatch  of  the  neighbouring  yard, 
rustled  their  fresh  dark  green  foliage  almost  inaudibly,  on 
account  of  the  buzzing  of  the  bees.  All  the  shadows 
from  the  roofed  fence,  from  the  lindens,  and  from  the  bee- 
hives that  were  covered  with  boards,  fell  black  and  short 
upon  the  small,  wiry  grass  that  sprouted  between  the 
hives. 

The  small,  bent  form  of  an  old  man,  with  his  uncovered 
gray,  and  partly  bald,  head  shining  in  the  sun,  was  seen 
near  the  door  of  a newly  thatched,  moss-calked  plank 
building,  which  was  situated  between  the  lindens.  Upon 
hearing  the  creaking  of  the  gate,  the  old  man  turned 
around  and,  wiping  off  his  perspiring,  sunburnt  face  with 
the  skirt  of  his  shirt,  and  smiling  gently  and  joyfully, 
came  to  meet  the  master. 

The  apiary  was  so  cosy,  so  pleasant,  so  quiet,  and  so 
59 


60  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


sunlit ; the  face  of  the  gray-haired  old  man,  with  the 
abundant  ray-like  wrinkles  about  his  eyes,  in  his  wide 
shoes  over  his  bare  feet,  who,  waddling  along  and  smiling 
good-naturedly  and  contentedly,  welcomed  the  master  in 
his  exclusive  possessions,  was  so  simple-hearted  and  kind, 
that  Nekhlyudov  immediately  forgot  the  heavy  impres- 
sions of  the  morning,  and  his  favourite  dream  rose  up 
before  him.  He  saw  all  his  peasants  just  as  rich  and 
good-natured  as  old  Dutlov,  and  all  smiled  kindly  and  joy- 
ously at  him,  because  they  owed  to  him  alone  all  their 
wealth  and  happiness. 

“ Will  you  not  have  a net,  your  Grace  ? The  bees  are 
angry  now,  and  they  sting,,,  said  the  old  man,  taking  down 
from  the  fence  a dirty  linen  bag  fragrant  with  honey, 
which  was  sewed  to  a bark  hoop,  and  offering  it  to  the 
master.  “ The  bees  know  me,  and  do  not  sting  me,”  he 
added,  with  a gentle  smile,  which  hardly  ever  left  his 
handsome,  sunburnt  face. 

“ Then  I shall  not  need  it,  either.  Well,  are  they 
swarming  already  ? ” asked  Nekhlyudov,  also  smiling, 
though  he  knew  not  why. 

“They  are  swarming,  Father  Dmitri  Nikolaevich,”  an- 
swered the  old  man,  wishing  to  express  his  especial  kind- 
ness by  calling  his  master  by  his  name  and  patronymic, 
“ but  they  have  just  begun  to  do  it  properly.  It  has 
been  a cold  spring,  you  know.” 

“ I have  read  in  a book,”  began  Nekhlyudov,  warding 
off  a bee  that  had  lost  itself  in  his  hair,  and  was  buzzing 
over  his  very  ear,  “ that  when  the  combs  are  placed 
straight  on  little  bars,  the  bees  begin  to  swarm  earlier. 
For  this  purpose  they  make  hives  out  of  boards — with 
cross-bea — ” 

“ Please  do  not  wave  your  hand,  it  will  make  it  only 
worse,”  said  the  old  man.  “ Had  I not  better  give  you 
the  net  ? ” 

Nekhlyudov  was  experiencing  pain,  but  a certain  child- 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  61 

ish  conceit  prevented  him  from  acknowledging  it ; he 
again  refused  the  net,  and  continued  to  tell  the  old  man 
about  the  construction  of  beehives,  of  which  he  had  read 
in  the  “ Maison  Rustique,”  and  in  which  the  bees,  accord- 
ing to  his  opinion,  would  swarm  twice  as  much ; but  a 
bee  stung  his  neck,  and  he  stopped  confused  in  the  mid- 
dle of  his  argument. 

“That  is  so,  Father  Dmitri  Nikolaevich,”  said  the  old 
man,  glancing  at  the  master  with  fatherly  condescension, 
“ they  write  so  in  books.  But  they  may  write  so  mali- 
ciously. ‘ Let  him  do/  they  probably  say,  ‘ as  we  write, 
and  we  will  have  the  laugh  on  him/  I believe  that  is 
possible  ! For  how  are  you  going  to  teach  the  bees  where 
to  build  their  combs  ? They  fix  them  in  the  hollow 
blocks  as  they  please,  sometimes  crossways,  and  at  others 
straight.  Look  here,  if  you  please,”  he  added,  uncorking 
^ne  of  the  nearest  blocks,  and  looking  through  the  open- 
ing, which  was  covered  with  buzzing  and  creeping  bees 
along  the  crooked  combs.  “ Now  here,  these  young  ones, 
they  have  their  mind  on  a queen  bee,  but  they  build  the 
comb  straightways  and  aslant,  just  as  it  fits  best  into 
the  block,”  said  the  old  man,  obviously  carried  away  by 
his  favourite  subject,  and  not  noticing  the  master’s  condi- 
tion. “They  are  coming  heavily  laden  to-day,  it  is  a 
warm  day,  and  everything  can  be  seen,”  he  added,  corking 
up  the  hive,  and  crushing  a creeping  bee  with  a rag,  and 
then  brushing  off  with  his  coarse  hand  a few  bees  from 
his  wrinkled  brow.  The  bees  did  not  sting  him.  But 
Nekhlyudov  could  no  longer  repress  his  desire  to  run  out 
of  the  apiary ; the  bees  had  stung  him  in  three  places, 
and  they  were  buzzing  on  all  sides  about  his  head  and 
neck. 

“ Have  you  many  hives  ? ” he  asked,  retreating  to  the 
gate. 

“ As  many  as  God  has  given,”  answered  Dutldv,  smil- 
ing. “ One  must  not  cour*-  them,  father ! the  bees  do 


62  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


not  like  that.  Now,  your  Grace,  I wanted  to  ask  you,” 
he  continued,  pointing^  to  thin  hives  that  stood  near  the 
fence,  “ in  regard  to  Osip,  the  nurse’s  husband.  Could 
you  not  tell  him  to  stop  it  ? It  is  mean  to  act  thus  to  a 
neighbour  of  your  own  village.” 

“ What  is  mean  ? — But  they  do  sting  me  ! ” answered 
the  master,  taking  hold  of  the  latch  of  the  gate. 

“ Every  year  he  lets  out  his  bees  against  my  young 
ones.  They  ought  to  have  a chance  to  improve,  but 
somebody  else’s  bees  steal  their  wax,  and  do  other  dam- 
age,” said  the  old  man,  without  noticing  the  master’s 
grimaces. 

“ All  right,  later,  directly,”  said  Nekhlyudov,  and,  un- 
able to  stand  the  pain  any  longer,  he  rushed  out  of  the 
gate,  defending  himself  with  both  hands. 

“ Rub  it  in  with  dirt ; it  will  pass,”  said  the  old  man, 
following  the  master  into  the  yard.  The  master  rubbed 
with  dirt  the  place  where  he  had  been  stung,  blushingly 
looked  at  Karp  and  Ignat,  who  did  not  see  him,  and 
frowned  angrily. 


XVI 


“ I wanted  to  ask  your  Grace  about  my  children,”  said 
the  old  man,  accidentally  or  purposely  paying  no  atten- 
tion to  the  master’s  angry  look. 

“ What?" 

“ Thank  the  Lord,  we  are  well  off  for  horses,  and  we 
have  a hired  man,  so  there  will  be  no  trouble  about  the 
manorial  dues." 

- What  of  it  ? ” 

“ If  you  would  be  kind  enough  to  let  my  sons  substitute 
money  payment  for  their  manorial  labour,  Ilyushka  and 
Ignat  would  take  out  three  troykas  to  do  some  teaming 
all  summer.  They  may  be  able  to  earn  something." 

“ Where  will  they  go  ? " 

“ Wherever  it  may  be,"  replied  Ilyushka,  who  had  in  the 
meantime  tied  the  horses  under  the  shed,  and  had  come 
up  to  his  father.  “ The  Kadma  boys  took  eight  troykas 
out  to  Rdmen,  and  they  made  a good  living,  and  brought 
back  home  thirty  roubles  for  each  trdyka ; and  they  say 
fodder  is  cheap  in  Odessa." 

“ It  is  precisely  this  that  I wanted  to  talk  to  you 
about,"  said  the  master,  turning  to  the  old  man,  and  try- 
ing to  introduce  the  discussion  about  the  farm  as  deftly 
as  possible.  “ Tell  me,  if  you  please,  is  it  more  profitable 
to  do  hauling  than  attend  to  a farm  ? " 

“No  end  more  profitable,  your  Graced  again  inter- 
rupted Ilya,  boldly  shaking  his  hair.  “ There  is  no  fodder 
at  home  to  feed  the  horses  with." 

03 


64  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


"Well,  and  how  much  do  you  expect  to  earn  in  a 
summer  ? ” 

“ In  the  spring,  when  fodder  was  dreadfully  expensive, 
we  travelled  to  Kiev  with  goods ; in  Kursk  we  again 
took  a load  of  grits  for  Moscow,  and  we  made  our  living, 
the  horses  had  enough  to  eat,  and  I brought  fifteen  roubles 
home.” 

“ It  is  not  a disgrace  to  have  an  honest  trade,”  said  the 
master,  again  turning  to  the  old  man,  “ but  it  seems  to 
me  one  might  find  another  occupation ; besides,  it  is  a 
kind  of  work  where  a young  fellow  travels  about,  sees  all 
kinds  of  people,  and  gets  easily  spoilt,”  he  said,  repeating 
Karp’s  words. 

“ What  are  we  peasants  to  take  up,  if  not  hauling  ? ” 
answered  the  old  man,  with  his  gentle  smile.  "If  you 
have  a good  job  at  teaming,  you  yourself  have  enough 
to  eat,  and  so  have  the  horses.  And  as  to  spoiling, 
thank  the  Lord,  they  are  not  hauling  the  first  year ; and  I 
myself  have  done  teaming,  and  have  never  seen  anything 
bad,  nothing  but  good.” 

“ There  are  many  things  you  might  take  up  at  home : 
land  and  meadows  — ” 

“ How  can  we,  your  Grace  ? ” Ilyushka  interrupted  him 
with  animation.  "We  were  born  for  this;  we  know  all 
about  it ; the  business  is  adapted  to  us,  and  we  like  it 
very  much,  your  Grace,  and  there  is  nothing  like  teaming 
for  us  fellows.” 

"Your  Grace,  will  you  do  us  the  honour  to  walk  into 
the  hut?  You  have  not  yet  seen  our  new  house,”  said 
the  old  man,  bowing  low,  and  winking  to  his  son. 
Ilyushka  ran  at  full  speed  into  the  hut,  and  Nekhlyudov 
followed  him,  with  the  old  man. 


XVII. 


When  they  entered  the  hut,  the  old  man  bowed  again, 
wiped  off  the  bench  in  the  front  corner  with  the  flap  of  his 
coat,  and,  smiling,  asked : 

“ What  may  we  serve  to  you,  your  Grace  ? ” 

The  hut  was  white  (with  a chimney),  spacious,  and  had 
both  hanging  and  bench  beds.  The  fresh  aspen-wood 
beams,  between  which  the  moss-calking  had  just  begun  to 
fade,  had  not  yet  turned  black ; the  new  benches  and  beds 
had  not  yet  become  smooth,  and  the  floor  was  not  yet 
stamped  down. 

A young,  haggard  peasant  woman,  with  an  oval,  pensive 
face,  Ilya’s  wife,  was  sitting  on  the  bench-bed,  and  rock- 
ing with  her  foot  a cradle  that  hung  down  from  the  ceiling 
by  a long  pole.  In  the  cradle  a suckling  babe  lay  stretched 
out,  and  slept,  barely  breathing,  and  closing  its  eyes. 
Another,  a plump,  red-cheeked  woman,  Karp’s  wife,  stood, 
with  her  sunburnt  arms  bared  above  the  elbows,  near 
the  oven,  and  cut  onions  into  a wooden  bowl.  A third,  a 
pockmarked,  pregnant  woman,  stood  at  the  oven,  shielding 
herself  with  her  sleeve.  The  hut  was  hot,  not  only  from 
the  sun,  but  from  the  oven  also,  and  was  fragrant  with 
freshly  baked  bread.  From  the  hanging  beds  the  flaxen 
heads  of  two  boys  and  a girl,  who  had  climbed  there  in 
expectation  of  dinner,  looked  down  with  curiosity  at  the 
master. 

Nekhlyudov  was  happy  to  see  this  well-being ; but,  at 
the  same  time,  he  felt  embarrassed  before  these  women 

65 


66  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 

and  children  who  gazed  at  him.  He  sat  down  on  the 
bench,  blushing. 

“ Give  me  a piece  of  warm  bread,  I like  it,”  he  said,  and 
blushed  even  more. 

Karp’s  wife  cut  off  a big  slice  of  bread,  and  handed  it 
to  the  master  on  a plate.  Nekhlyudov  was  silent,  not 
knowing  what  to  say  ; the  women  were  silent,  too  ; the 
old  man  smiled  gently. 

“ Really,  what  am  I ashamed  of  ? I am  acting  as 
though  I were  guilty  of  something,”  thought  Nekhlyudov. 
“ Why  should  I not  make  the  proposition  about  the  farm 
to  him  ? How  foolish  ! ” But  still  he  kept  silent. 

“Well,  Father  Dmitri  Nikolaevich,  what  will  your 
order  be  about  the  boys  ? ” said  the  old  man. 

“ I should  advise  you  not  to  send  them  away,  but  to 
find  work  for  them  here,”  suddenly  spoke  Nekhlyudov, 
taking  courage.  “ Do  you  know  what  I have  "thought 
out  for  you  ? Buy  in  partnership  with  me  a young  grove 
in  the  Crown  forest,  and  fields  — ” 

“ How,  your  Grace  ? Where  shall  I get  the  money  for 
it  ? ” he  interrupted  the  master. 

“ A small  grove,  for  about  two  hundred  roubles,”  re- 
marked Nekhlyudov. 

The  old  man  smiled  angrily. 

“ It  would  not  hurt  to  buy  it  if  I had  the  money,”  he 
said. 

“ Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  have  not  that  amount  ? ” 
said  the  master,  reproachfully. 

“ Oh,  your  Grace ! ” answered  the  old  man,  in  a sorrow- 
ful voice,  looking  at  the  door.  “ I have  enough  to  do  to 
feed  the  family,  and  it  is  not  for  me  to  buy  groves.” 

“ But  you  have  money,  and  why  should  it  lie  idle  ? ” 
insisted  Nekhlyudov. 

The  old  man  became  greatly  agitated  ; his  eyes  flashed, 
he  began  to  shrug  his  shoulders. 

“ It  may  be  evil  people  have  told  you  something  about 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  67 


me,”  he  spoke  in  a trembling  voice,  “ but,  as  you  believe 
in  God,”  he  said,  becoming  more  and  more  animated,  and 
turning  his  eyes  to  the  image,  “ may  my  eyes  burst,  may  I 
go  through  the  floor,  if  I have  anything  outside  of  the 
fifteen  roubles  which  Ilyushka  has  brought  me,  and  I 
must  pay  the  capitation  tax,  and,  you  know  yourself, 
I have  just  built  a new  hut  — ” 

“ All  right,  all  right ! ” said  the  master  rising  from  the 
bench.  “ Good-bye,  people ! ” 


XVIII. 


u My  God  ! My  God ! ” thought  Nekhlyudov,  making 
his  way  with  long  strides  to  the  house  through  the  shady 
avenues  of  the  weed-grown  garden,  and  absent-mindedly 
tearing  off  leaves  and  branches  on  his  way.  “ Is  it  possible 
all  my  dreams  of  the  aims  and  duties  of  my  life  have  been 
absurd  ? Why  do  I feel  so  oppressed  and  melancholy,  as 
though  I were  dissatisfied  with  myself,  whereas  I had 
imagined  that  the  moment  I entered  on  the  path,  I would 
continually  experience  that  fulness  of  a morally  satisfied 
feeling  which  I had  experienced  when  these  thoughts 
came  to  me  for  the  first  time  ? ” 

He  transferred  himself,  in  imagination,  with  extraordi- 
nary vividness  and  clearness,  a year  back,  to  that  blissful 
moment. 

He  had  risen  early  in  the  morning  before  everybody  in 
the  house,  painfully  agitated  by  some  secret,  inexpressi- 
ble impulses  of  youth ; had  aimlessly  walked  into  the 
garden,  thence  into  the  forest ; and,  amidst  the  strong, 
luscious,  but  calm  Nature  of  a May  day,  he  had  long 
wandered  alone,  without  thought,  suffering  from  an  excess 
of  some  feeling,  and  unable  to  find  an  expression  for  it. 

His  youthful  imagination,  full  of  the  charm  of  the 
unknown,  represented  to  him  the  voluptuous  image  of 
a woman,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  this  was  the  unex- 
pressed desire.  But  another  higher  feeling  said  to  him, 
“ Not  this,”  and  compelled  him  to  seek  something  else. 
Then  again,  his  vivid  imagination,  rising  higher  and 
higher,  into  the  sphere  of  abstractions,  opened  up  to  him, 

68 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  69 

as  he  thought,  the  laws  of  being,  and  he  dwelt  with  proud 
delight  upon  these  thoughts.  And  again  a higher  feeling 
said,  “ Not  this,”  and  again  caused  him  to  seek  and  be 
agitated. 

Without  ideas  and  desires,  as  always  happens  after  an 
intensified  activity,  he  lay  down  on  his  back  under  a tree, 
and  began  to  gaze  at  the  translucent  morning  clouds, 
which  scudded  above  him  over  the  deep,  endless  sky. 
Suddenly  tears  stood,  without  any  cause,  in  his  eyes,  and, 
God  knows  how,  there  came  to  him  the  clear  thought, 
which  filled  his  soul,  and  which  he  seized  with  delight,  — 
the  thought  that  love  and  goodness  were  truth  and  hap- 
piness, and  the  only  truth  and  possible  happiness  in  the 
world.  A higher  feeling  did  not  say,  “ Not  this,”  and  he 
arose,  and  began  to  verify  his  thought. 

“ It  is,  it  is,  yes ! ” he  said  to  himself  in  ecstasy,  meas- 
uring all  his  former  convictions,  all  the  phenomena  of  life, 
with  the  newly  discovered  and,  as  he  thought,  entirely 
new  truth.  “ How  stupid  is  all  which  I have  known,  and 
which  I have  believed  in  and  loved,”  he  said  to  himself. 
“ Love,  self-sacrifice,  — these  constitute  the  only  true  hap- 
piness which  is  independent  of  accident ! ” he  repeated, 
smiling,  and  waving  his  hands.  He  applied  this  thought 
to  life  from  every  side,  and  he  found  its  confirmation  in 
life,  and  in  the  inner  voice  which  told  him,  “ It  is  this,” 
and  he  experienced  a novel  feeling  of  joyful  agitation  and 
transport.  “And  thus,  I must  do  good  in  order  to  be 
happy,”  he  thought,  and  all  his  future  was  vividly  pictured 
to  him,  not  in  the  abstract,  but  in  concrete  form,  in  the 
shape  of  a landed  proprietor. 

He  saw  before  him  an  immense  field  of  action  for  his 
whole  life,  which  he  would  henceforth  devote  to  doing 
good,  and  in  which  he,  consequently,  would  be  happy. 
He  would  not  have  to  look  for  a sphere  of  action : it  was 
there  ; he  had  a direct  duty,  — he  had  peasants  — 

What  refreshing  and  grateful  labour  his  imagination 


70  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 

evoked  : “ To  act  upon  this  simple,  receptive,  uncorrupted 
class  of  people ; to  save  them  from  poverty ; to  give  them 
a sufficiency ; to  transmit  to  them  the  education  which  I 
enjoy  through  good  fortune ; to  reform  their  vices  which 
are  the  issue  of  ignorance  and  superstition ; to  develop 
their  morality  ; to  cause  them  to  love  goodness  — What  a 
brilliant  and  happy  future ! And  I,  who  will  be  doing  it 
all  for  my  own  happiness,  shall  enjoy  their  gratitude,  and 
shall  see  how  with  every  day  I come  nearer  and  nearer  to 
the  goal  which  I have  set  for  myself.  Enchanting  future  ! 
How  could  I have  failed  to  see  it  before  ? 

“ And  besides,”  he  thought  at  the  same  time,  “ who  pre- 
vents my  being  happy  in  my  love  for  a woman,  in 
domestic  life  ? ” 

And  his  youthful  imagination  painted  a still  more 
entrancing  future  to  him. 

“ I and  my  wife,  whom  I love  as  no  one  in  the  world 
has  ever  loved,  will  always  live  amidst  this  tranquil,  poeti- 
cal country  Nature,  with  our  children,  perhaps  with  an  old 
aunt.  We  have  a common  love,  the  love  for  our  children, 
and  both  of  us  know  that  our  destiny  is  goodness.  We 
help  each  other  to  walk  toward  this  goal.  I take  general 
measures,  furnish  general  and  just  assistance,  start  a farm, 
savings-banks,  factories;  but  she,  with  her  pretty  little 
head,  in  a simple  white  dress,  lifted  over  her  dainty  foot, 
walks  through  the  mud  to  the  peasant  school,  to  the  hos- 
pital, to  some  unfortunate  peasant,  who  really  does  not 
deserve  any  aid,  and  everywhere  she  consoles  and  helps  — 
The  children  and  the  old  men  and  women  worship  her, 
and  look  upon  her  as  upon  an  angel,  a vision.  Then  she 
returns  home,  and  she  conceals  from  me  that  she  has  gone 
to  see  the  unfortunate  peasant,  and  has  given  him  money ; 
but  I know  everything,  and  I embrace  her  tightly,  and 
firmly  and  tenderly  kiss  her  charming  eyes,  her  bashfully 
blushing  cheeks,  and  her  smiling  ruddy  lips  — ” 


XIX. 


“ Where  are  these  dreams  ?”  now  thought  the  youth, 
as  he  approached  his  house  after  his  visits.  “ It  is  now 
more  than  a year  that  I have  been  seeking  happiness  upon 
this  road,  and  what  have  I found  ? It  is  true,  at  times  I 
feel  that  I might  be  satisfied  with  myself,  but  it  is  a kind 
of  dry,  mental  satisfaction.  Yes  and  no,  I am  simply  dis- 
satisfied with  myself ! I am  dissatisfied  because  I have 
found  no  happiness  here,  and  yet  I wish,  I passionately 
wish  for  happiness.  I have  not  experienced  enjoyment, 
and  have  already  cut  off  from  me  everything  which  gives 
it.  Why  ? For  what  ? Who  has  been  better  off  for  it  ? 
My  aunt  was  right  when  she  said  that  it  is  easier  to  find 
happiness  than  to  give  it  to  others. 

“ Have  my  peasants  grown  richer  ? Have  they  been 
morally  educated  and  developed  ? Not  in  the  least. 
They  are  not  better  off',  but  I feel  worse  with  every  day. 
If  I only  saw  any  success  in  my  undertaking,  if  I saw 
gratitude  — but  no,  I see  the  perverted  routine,  vice,  sus- 
picion, helplessness. 

“ I am  wasting  in  vain  the  best  years  of  my  life,”  he 
thought,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  his  nurse  had  told 
him  that  his  neighbours  called  him  a “ minor  ” ; that 
there  was  no  money  left  in  his  office ; that  the  new 
threshing-machine,  which  he  had  invented,  to  the  com- 
mon delight  of  the  peasants,  only  whistled  but  did  not 
thresh,  when  it  was  for  the  first  time  set  in  motion  in  the 
threshing-barn,  before  a large  audience ; that  from  day  to 

71 


72  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 

day  he  might  expect  the  arrival  of  the  agrarian  court  in 
order  to  take  an  invoice  of  the  estate,  since  he  had  allowed 
payments  on  the  mortgage  to  lapse,  in  his  preoccupation 
with  all  kinds  of  new  farm  undertakings. 

And  suddenly,  just  as  vividly  as  before,  came  to  him 
the  picture  of  his  walk  through  the  forest,  and  the  dream 
of  a country  life ; and  just  as  vividly  stood  before  him  his 
student  room  in  Moscow,  in  which  he  used  to  stay  up  late 
at  night,  by  one  candle,  with  his  classmate  and  adored 
sixteen-year-old  friend.  They  read  and  recited  for  hours 
in  succession  some  tiresome  notes  of  civil  law,  and,  after 
finishing  them,  sent  for  supper,  pooled  on  a bottle  of 
champagne,  and  talked  of  the  future  that  was  in  store  for 
them.  How  differently  the  future  had  presented  itself  to 
a young  student!  Then  the  future  was  full  of  enjoy- 
ment, of  varied  activities,  of  splendid  successes,  and  incon- 
testably led  both  of  them  to  the  highest  good  in  the 
world,  as  it  then  was  understood  by  them,  — to  fame ! 

“ He  is  walking,  and  rapidly  walking,  on  that  road,” 
thought  Nekhlyudov  of  his  friend,  “ and  I — ” 

At  this  time  he  had  arrived  at  the  entrance  of  the 
house,  where  ten  or  more  peasants  and  domestics  stood, 
waiting  for  the  master  with  all  kinds  of  requests,  and  he 
had  to  turn  from  his  dreams  to  the  reality  before  him. 

Here  was  a ragged,  dishevelled,  and  blood-stained  peas- 
ant woman  who  complained  in  tears  of  her  father-in-law, 
who,  she  said,  wanted  to  kill  her ; here  were  two  brothers 
who  had  been  for  two  years  quarrelling  about  the  division 
of  their  farm,  and  who  looked  upon  each  other  with  des- 
perate malice;  here  was  also  an  unshaven,  gray-haired 
servant,  with  hands  quivering  from  intoxication,  whom 
his  son,  the  gardener,  had  brought  to  the  master,  to  com- 
plain of  his  dissolute  conduct ; here  was  a peasant  who 
had  driven  his  wife  out  of  the  house  because  she  had  not 
worked  all  the  spring ; here  was  also  that  sick  woman, 
his  wife,  who  sat,  sobbing  and  saying  nothing,  on  the 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  73 

grass  near  the  entrance,  and  displayed  her  inflamed,  swol- 
len leg,  carelessly  wrapped  in  a dirty  rag  — 

Nekhlyudov  listened  to  all  requests  and  complaints, 
and  he  gave  his  advice  to  some,  and  settled  the  quarrels 
or  made  promises  to  others.  He  experienced  a certain 
mixed  feeling  of  weariness,  shame,  helplessness,  and  re- 
morse, and  walked  to  his  ^oom. 


XX, 


In  the  small  room  which  Nekhlyudov  occupied,  stood 
an  old  leather  divan  studded  with  brass  nails,  several 
chairs  of  the  same  description,  an  open  antiquated  card- 
table,  with  incrustations,  indentations,  and  a brass  rim, 
on  which  lay  papers,  and  an  antiquated,  yellow,  open 
English  grand,  with  worn,  narrow  keys.  Between  the 
windows  hung  a large  mirror  in  an  old  gilt  carved  frame. 
On  the  floor,  near  the  table,  lay  stacks  of  papers,  books, 
and  accounts.  The  room  bore  altogether  a disorderly 
aspect,  and  was  devoid  of  character;  and  this  living 
disorder  formed  a sharp  contrast  to  the  affected,  old- 
fashioned,  aristocratic  arrangement  of  the  other  rooms  of 
the  large  house. 

Upon  entering  the  room  Nekhlyudov  angrily  threw 
his  hat  upon  the  table,  and  sat  down  on  a chair  which 
stood  in  front  of  the  grand,  and  crossed  his  legs  and 
dropped  his  head. 

“ Well,  will  you  have  your  breakfast,  your  Grace  ? ” 
said,  upon  entering  the  room,  a tall,  haggard,  wrinkled 
old  woman,  in  cap,  large  kerchief,  and  chintz  dress. 

Nekhlyudov  turned  around  to  take  a look  at  her,  and 
kept  silent  for  awhile,  as  though  considering  something. 

“No,  I do  not  care  to,  nurse,”  he  said,  and  again 
became  pensive. 

The  nurse  angrily  shook  her  head  at  him,  and  sighed. 

“ Oh,  Dmitri  Nikolaevich,  why  do  you  look  so  sad  ? 
There  are  greater  sorrows,  and  they  pass,  — really  they 
do  — ” 


n 


A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  75 

“ But  I am  not  sad.  What  makes  you  think  so,  Mother 
Malanya  Finog^novna  ? ” answered  Nekhlyudov,  trying 
to  smile. 

“ Yes,  you  are.  Don’t  I see  it  ? ” the  nurse  began  to 
speak  with  animation.  “ You  are  day  in,  day  out,  all 
alone.  And  you  take  everything  to  heart,  and  attend 
to  everything  yourself.  You  have  even  quit  eating.  Is 
this  right  ? If  you  only  went  to  visit  the  city,  or  your 
neighbours,  — but  this  is  an  unheard-of  thing.  You 
are  young,  so  why  should  you  worry  about  everything  ? 
Forgive  me,  sir,  I will  sit  down,”  continued  the  nurse, 
seating  herself  near  the  door.  “ You  have  been  so  indul- 
gent with  them,  that  nobody  is  afraid  of  you.  Is  this  the 
way  masters  do  ? There  is  nothing  good  in  it.  You  are 
ruining  yourself,  and  the  people  are  getting  spoilt.  You 
know,  our  peasants  do  not  understand  what  you  are  doing 
for  them,  really  they  don’t.  Why  do  you  not  go  to  see 
your  aunty ; she  wrote  you  the  truth  — ” the  nurse 
admonished  him. 

Nekhlyudov  kept  growing  more  and  more  despondent. 
His  right  hand,  which  was  resting  on  his  knee,  fell 
flaccidly  upon  the  keys.  They  gave  forth  a chord,  a 
second,  a third  — Nekhlyudov  moved  up,  drew  his  other 
hand  from  his  pocket,  and  began  to  play.  The  chords 
which  he  took  were  sometimes  unprepared,  and  not 
always  correct ; they  were  often  common  enough  to  be 
trite,  and  did  not  display  the  least  musical  talent;  but 
this  occupation  afforded  him  a certain  indefinable  melan- 
choly pleasure. 

At  every  change  of  harmony,  he  waited  in  breathless 
expectancy  what  would  come  out  of  it,  and,  when  some- 
thing came,  his  imagination  dimly  supplied  what  was 
lacking.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  heard  hundreds  of 
melodies : a chorus  and  an  orchestra,  in  conformity  with 
his  harmony. 

But  he  derived  his  chief  pleasure  from  the  intensified 


76  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


activity  of  his  imagination,  which  at  that  time  brought 
up  before  him,  disconnectedly  and  fragmentarily,  but  with 
wonderful  clearness,  the  most  varied,  mixed,  and  absurd 
images  and  pictures  from  the  past  and  future. 

Now  he  saw  the  bloated  form  of  Dav^dka  the  White 
timidly  blinking  with  his  white  eyelashes  at  the  sight  of 
his  mother’s  black,  venous  fist;  his  curved  back,  and 
immense  hands  covered  with  white  hair,  answering  to 
all  tortures  and  deprivations  with  patience  and  submis- 
sion to  fate. 

Then  he  saw  the  nimble  nurse,  emboldened  through 
her  association  with  the  manor,  and  he  imagined  her 
visiting  the  villages  and  preaching  to  the  peasants  that 
they  must  conceal  their  money  from  the  proprietors ; and 
he  unconsciously  repeated  to  himself,  “ Yes,  it  is  necessary 
to  conceal  the  money  from  the  proprietors ! ” 

Then  suddenly  presented  itself  to  him  the  blonde  head 
of  his  future  wife,  for  some  reason  in  tears,  and  in  great 
anguish  leaning  upon  his  shoulder. 

Then  he  saw  Churis’s  kindly  blue  eyes,  tenderly  looking 
down  upon  his  only  thick-bellied  little  son.  Yes,  he  saw 
in  him  not  only  a son,  but  a helper  and  saviour.  “ This 
is  love  ! ” he  whispered. 

Then  he  recalled  Yukhvanka’s  mother,  and  the  expres- 
sion of  long-suffering  and  forgiveness  which  he  had 
noticed  upon  her  aged  face,  in  spite  of  her  prominent 
tooth  and  abhorrent  features.  “ No  doubt,  I am  the  first 
one  to  have  noticed  this,  in  the  seventy  years  of  her  life,” 
he  thought ; and  he  whispered,  “ It  is  strange,”  and  con- 
tinued unconsciously  to  run  his  fingers  over  the  keys  and 
to  listen  to  the  sounds  they  made. 

Then  he  vividly  recalled  his  flight  from  the  apiary,  and 
the  expression  of  the  faces  of  Ignat  and  Karp,  who  evi- 
dently wanted  to  laugh,  but  pretended  that  they  did  not 
see  him. 

He  blushed,  and  involuntarily  looked  at  his  nurse,  who 


A MOBNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR  77 

remained  sitting  at  the  door,  silently  gazing  at  him,  and 
now  and  then  shaking  her  gray  hair. 

Suddenly  there  came  to  him  the  troyka  of  sweaty  horses, 
and  Ilyushka’s  handsome  and  strong  figure,  with  his  blond 
curls,  beaming,  narrow  blue  eyes,  ruddy  cheeks,  and  light- 
coloured  down  just  beginning  to  cover  his  lip  and  chin. 
He  remembered  how  Ilyushka  was  afraid  he  would  not 
be  permitted  to  go  teaming,  and  how  warmly  he  defended 
his  cause,  which  he  liked  so  well.  And  he  saw  a gray, 
misty  morning,  a slippery  highway,  and  a long  row  of 
heavily  laden,  mat-covered  three-horse  wagons,  marked 
with  big  black  letters.  The  stout-legged,  well-fed  horses, 
jingling  their  bells,  bending  their  backs,  and  tugging  at 
their  traces,  pulled  evenly  up-hill,  straining  their  legs  so 
that  the  sponges  might  catch  on  the  slippery  road.  Down- 
hill, past  the  train  of  wagons,  came  dashing  the  stage, 
tinkling  its  little  bells,  which  reechoed  far  into  the  large 
forest  that  extended  on  both  sides  of  the  road. 

“ Whew ! ” shouted,  in  a childish  voice,  the  first  driver, 
with  a tin  label  on  his  lambskin  cap,  raising  his  whip 
above  his  head. 

Karp,  with  his  red  beard  and  gloomy  look,  was  striding 
heavily  in  his  huge  boots  beside  the  front  wheel  of  the 
first  wagon.  From  the  second  wagon  stuck  out  the  hand- 
some head  of  Ilyushka,  who,  at  the  early  dawn,  was 
making  himself  snug  and  warm  under  the  front  mat. 
Three  troykas,  laden  with  portmanteaus,  dashed  by,  with 
rumbling  wheels,  jingling  bells,  and  shouts.  Ilyushka 
again  hid  his  handsome  head  under  the  mat,  and  fell 
asleep. 

Now  it  was  a clear,  warm  evening.  The  plank  gate 
creaked  for  the  tired  teams  that  were  crowded  in  front 
of  the  tavern,  and  the  tall,  mat-covered  wagons,  jolting 
over  the  board  that  lay  in  the  gate  entrance,  disappeared 
one  after  another  under  the  spacious  sheds. 

Ilyushka  merrily  greeted  the  fair-complexioned,  broad- 


78  A MORNING  OF  A LANDED  PROPRIETOR 


chested  landlady,  who  asked,  “ Do  you  come  far  ? And 
will  you  have  a good  supper  ? ” looking  with  pleasure  at 
the  handsome  lad,  with  his  sparkling,  kindly  eyes. 

Now,  having  unharnessed  the  horses,  he  went  into  the 
close  hut  crowded  with  people,  made  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
sat  down  at  a full  wooden  bowl,  and  chatted  merrily  with 
the  landlady  and  his  companions. 

And  then  his  bed  was  under  the  starry  heaven,  which 
was  visible  from  the  shed,  and  upon  the  fragrant  hay, 
near  his  horses  which,  stamping  and  snorting,  rummaged 
through  the  fodder  in  the  wooden  cribs.  He  walked  up 
to  the  hay,  turned  to  the  east,  and,  crossing  himself  some 
thirty  times  in  succession,  over  his  broad,  powerful  breast, 
and  shaking  his  bright  curls,  he  said  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
and  repeated  some  twenty  times  the  “ Kyrie  eleison,”  and, 
wrapping  his  cloak  around  body  and  head,  slept  the 
sound,  careless  sleep  of  a strong,  healthy  man. 

And  he  sawT  in  his  dream  the  city  of  Kiev,  with  its 
saints  and  throngs  of  pilgrims ; Romen,  with  its  merchants 
and  merchandise ; and  Odessa  and  the  endless  blue  sea 
with  its  white  sails ; and  the  city  of  Constantinople,  with 
its  golden  houses,  and  white-breasted,  black-browed  Turk- 
ish maidens ; and  he  flew  there,  rising  on  some  invisible 
pinions.  He  flew  freely  and  easily,  farther  and  farther, 
and  saw  below  him  golden  cities  bathed  in  bright  splen- 
dour, and  the  blue  heaven  with  its  pure  stars,  and  the 
blue  sea  with  its  white  sails,  and  he  felt  a joy  and  pleas- 
ure in  flying  ever  farther  and  farther  — 

“ Glorious ! ” Nekhlyudov  whispered  to  himself,  and  the 
thought  came  to  him,  “ Why  am  I not  Ilyushka  ? ” 


THE  COSSACKS 

A Novel  of  the  Caucasus 

185a 


THE  COSSACKS 


A Novel  of  the  Caucasus 


I. 

Everything  was  quiet  in  Moscow.  In  a few  isolated 
places  could  be  heard  the  squeak  of  wheels  over  the 
wintry  street.  There  were  no  lights  in  the  windows,  and 
the  lamps  were  extinguished.  From  the  churches  rang 
out  the  sounds  of  bells  which,  billowing  over  the  sleepy 
city,  reminded  one  of  morning. 

The  streets  were  empty.  Here  and  there  a night  cab- 
man caused  the  sand  and  snow  to  become  mixed  under 
the  narrow  runners  of  his  sleigh,  and,  betaking  himself 
to  the  opposite  corner,  fell  asleep,  waiting  for  a passenger. 
An  old  woman  walked  by,  on  her  way  to  church,  where, 
reflected  from  the  gold  foils  of  the  holy  images,  burnt 
with  a red  light  a few  unsymmetrically  placed  wax 
tapers.  Working  people  were  rising  after  the  long 

winter  night,  and  walking  to  work. 

But  for  gentlemen  it  was  still  evening. 

In  one  of  the  windows  of  Chevalier’s  establishment 
there  peeped,  contrary  to  law,  a light  through  the  closed 
shutter.  At  the  entrance  stood  a carriage,  a sleigh,  and 
cabs,  closely  pressed  together,  with  their  backs  to  the 
curbstone.  Here  was  also  a stage  trdyka.  The  janitor, 

81 


82 


THE  COSSACKS 


wrapped  in  his  furs  and  crouching,  seemed  to  be  hiding 
around  the  corner  of  the  house. 

“ What  makes  them  keep  up  this  unending  prattle  ? ” 
thought  the  lackey  with  the  haggard  face,  who  was 
sitting  in  the  antechamber.  “ And  that,  too,  when  I am 
keeping  watch ! ” 

In  the  adjoining,  brightly  illuminated  room  could  be 
heard  the  voices  of  three  young  men,  who  were  dining. 
They  were  sitting  at  a table,  upon  which  stood  the  rem- 
nants of  a supper  and  wine.  One  of  them,  a small, 
clean-looking,  haggard,  and  homely  fellow  was  seated 
and  looking  with  kindly,  though  wearied,  eyes  at  him 
who  was  to  depart.  Another,  a tall  man,  was  reclining 
near  the  table,  that  was  covered  with  empty  bottles,  and 
playing  with  his  watch-key.  A third,  in  a new  short  fur 
coat,  paced  the  room,  now  and  then  stopped  to  crack  an 
almond  between  his  fairly  fat  and  powerful  fingers,  with 
their  manicured  nails,  and  smiled  for  some  reason  or 
other.  His  eyes  and  face  were  flushed.  He  spoke  with 
ardour  and  in  gestures ; but  it  was  evident  that  he  could 
not  find  words,  and  that  all  the  words  which  occurred 
to  him  appeared  insufficient  to  express  everything  that 
was  upon  his  heart.  He  was  continually  smiling. 

“Now  I may  say  everything ! ” said  the  departing  man. 
“I  do  not  mean  to  justify  myself,  but  I should  like  to 
have  you  understand  me  as  I understand  myself,  and  not 
as  the  malicious  regard  this  affair.  You  say  that  I am 
guilty  toward  her,”  he  turned  to  the  one  who  looked  upon 
him  with  kindly  eyes. 

“ Yes,  guilty,”  answered  the  short,  homely  fellow,  and 
there  seemed  to  be  even  more  kindness  and  weariness 
expressed  in  his  glance. 

“ I know  why  you  say  so,”  answered  the  departing 
man.  “ To  be  loved  is,  in  your  opinion,  just  such  happi- 
ness as  to  love,  and  it  is  sufficient  for  a whole  life,  if  you 
once  obtain  it.” 


THE  COSSACKS 


83 


“ Yes,  quite  sufficient,  my  dear ! More  than  enough,” 
confirmed  the  short,  homely  fellow,  opening  and  closing 
his  eyes. 

“ But  why  should  one  not  love  ? ” said  the  departing 
man,  falling  into  a reverie,  and  looking  at  his  companion, 
as  though  with  compassion.  “ Why  not  love  ? Don’t 
feel  like  loving  — No,  to  be  loved  is  a misfortune  when 
you  feel  that  you  are  guilty  because  you  are  not  returning 
the  love,  nor  ever  can  return  it.  0 Lord ! ” and  he  waved 
his  hand.  “ If  all  this  had  happened  in  a sensible  way  ! 
But  no,  it  is  all  topsyturvy,  not  according  to  our  ways, 
but  in  its  own  peculiar  manner.  I feel  as  though  I had 
stolen  that  sentiment.  And  you  think  the  same  way ; 
do  not  deny  it,  you  certainly  must  think  that  way.  And 
would  you  believe  it  ? Of  all  the  mean  and  stupid  acts 
that  I have  managed  to  commit  in  my  life,  this  is  the 
only  one  for  which  I do  not  feel,  nor  ever  can  feel, 
remorse.  Neither  in  the  beginning,  nor  later,  have  I 
lied  to  myself,  nor  to  her.  I imagined  that  at  last  I had 
fallen  in  love  with  her ; and  then  I saw  that  it  was  an 
involuntary  lie,  that  it  was  impossible  thus  to  love,  and 
I was  unable  to  go  any  farther ; but  she  did  go  farther. 
Am  I to  be  blamed  because  I could  not  ? What  could 
I do?” 

“ Well,  now  it  is  all  ended!”  said  his  friend,  lighting 
a cigar  in  order  to  dispel  sleep.  “ There  is  this  much : 
you  have  not  loved  yet,  and  you  do  not  know  what 
love  is.” 

The  one  who  wore  the  short  fur  coat  was  on  the  point 
of  saying  something,  and  he  grasped  his  head  with  both 
his  hands.  But  he  did  not  express  what  he  intended 
to  say. 

“ I have  not  loved  ! Yes,  it  is  true,  I have  not  loved. 
I certainly  desire  to  love,  and  there  is  nothing  stronger 
than  my  desire  ! And  then  again,  is  there  such  a love  ? 
There  always  remains  something  unfinished.  Well,  what 


84 


THE  COSSACKS 


is  the  use  of  speaking  ? I have  blundered  and  blundered 
in  my  life.  But  now  all  is  ended,  you  are  right.  And  I 
feel  that  a new  life  is  to  begin.” 

“ In  which  you  will  blunder  again/’  said  the  one  who 
was  lying  on  the  sofa  and  playing  with  his  watch-key ; 
but  the  departing  man  did  not  hear  him. 

“ I am  both  sad  and  happy  to  leave,”  he  continued. 
“ Why  sad  ? I do  not  know.” 

And  the  departing  man  began  to  speak  of  himself, 
without  noticing  that  the  others  were  not  as  much  inter- 
ested in  this  as  he.  Man  is  never  cuch  an  egotist  as  in 
the  moment  of  sentimental  transport.  It  seems  to  him 
then  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  more  beautiful 
and  interesting  than  he  himself. 

“ Dmitri  Andreevich,  the  driver  refuses  to  wait ! ” said, 
upon  entering,  a young  manorial  servant,  in  a fur  coat, 
and  wrapped  in  a scarf.  “ The  horses  have  been  stand- 
ing since  twelve  o’clock,  and  now  it  is  four.” 

Dmitri  Andreevich  looked  at  his  Vanyusha.  In  his 
scarf,  felt  boots,  and  sleepy  face  he  heard  the  voice  of 
another  life  which  called  him,  — a life  of  labour,  priva- 
tion, and  activity. 

“ That  is  so,  good-bye ! ” he  said,  searching  for  the 
unhooked  eye  of  his  fur  coat. 

In  spite  of  the  advice  of  his  friends  to  give  the  driver 
a pourboire,  he  donned  his  cap,  and  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  room.  They  kissed  once,  twice,  then  stopped,  and 
kissed  for  the  third  time.  The  one  who  was  in  the  short 
fur  coat  walked  up  to  the  table,  emptied  a beaker  that 
was  standing  upon  it,  took  the  hand  of  the  short  homely 
fellow,  and  blushed, 

“No.  I will  say  it  — I ought  to  be  and  can  be  frank 
with  you,  because  I love  you  — You  love  her  ? I always 
thought  so  — yes  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  answered  his  friend,  smiling  more  gently  still. 

“And  maybe  — ” 


THE  COSSACKS 


85 


“ Please,  I have  been  ordered  to  put  out  the  lights,* 
said  the  sleepy  lackey  who  had  heard  the  last  conversa- 
tion, and  was  ruminating  why  it  was  gentlemen  eternally 
talked  of  one  and  the  same  thing.  “ Against  whom  shall 
the  bill  be  charged  ? Against  you  ? ” he  added,  turning 
to  the  tall  gentleman,  knowing  in  advance  who  it  would 
be. 

“ Against  me,”  said  the  tall  man.  “ How  much  is  it  ? ” 

“ Twenty-six  roubles.” 

The  tall  man  mused  for  awhile,  but  said  nothing,  and 
placed  the  bill  in  his  pocket. 

The  other  two  continued  their  conversation. 

“ Good-bye,  you  are  a fine  fellow ! ” said  the  short, 
homely  man  with  the  gentle  eyes. 

Tears  stood  in  the  eyes  of  both.  They  walked  out  to 
the  entrance. 

“ Oh,  yes ! ” said  the  departing  man,  blushing,  and  turn- 
ing to  the  tall  gentleman.  “ You  will  fix  the  bill  with 
Chevalier,  and  then  write  to  me  about  it.” 

“ All  right,  all  right,”  said  the  tall  gentleman,  putting 
on  his  gloves.  “How  I envy  you  !”  he  added,  quite  un- 
expectedly, as  they  walked  out  to  the  entrance. 

The  departing  man  seated  himself  in  his  sleigh,  wrapped 
himself  in  his  fur  coat,  and  said,  “Well,  w^e  will  start,” 
and  moved  in  his  seat  to  give  a place  to  him  who  had 
said  that  he  envied  him ; his  voice  was  trembling. 

The  friend  who  saw  him  off  said,  “ Good-bye,  Mitya, 
may  God  grant  you  — ” He  did  not  wish  anything  but 
that  he  should  leave  as  soon  as  possible,  and  so  he  could 
not  finish  what  it  was  he  wished  him. 

They  were  silent.  Again  somebody  said,  “ Good-bye ! ” 

Somebody  said,  “ Go ! ” and  the  driver  started  his 
horses. 

“ Elizar,  the  carriage ! ” shouted  one  of  these  who  had 
seen  him  off. 

The  cabmen  and  the  coachman  stirred,  called  to  their 


86 


THE  COSSACKS 


horses,  and  pulled  the  reins.  The  frozen  sleigh  squeaked 
over  the  snow. 

“ This  Olenin  is  a fine  fellow,”  said  one  of  the  two. 
“ But  what  pleasure  is  there  in  going  to  the  Caucasus, 
and  as  a yunker1  at  that?  I would  not  do  it  for  any- 
thing. Will  you  dine  at  the  club  to-morrow  ?” 

- Yes.” 

And  the  friends  parted. 

The  departing  man  felt  warm,  even  hot,  in  his  fur  coat. 
He  sat  down  in  the  bed  of  the  sleigh  and  stretched  him- 
self; and  the  shaggy  stage-horses  flew  from  one  dark 
street  into  another,  past  houses  he  had  never  seen.  It 
appeared  to  Olenin  that  only  those  who  departed  trav- 
elled through  these  streets.  Around  him  it  was  dark, 
speechless,  gloomy,  and  his  soul  was  full  of  recollections, 
love,  regrets,  and  of  pleasurable  tears  that  choked  him. 


1 A non-commissioned  officer  of  the  nobility. 


II. 


“ I love  ! I love  them  very  much ! They  are  fine ! 
It  is  good ! ” he  repeated,  and  he  wanted  to  weep.  But 
he  was  not  quite  sure  why  he  wanted  to  weep,  who  were 
fine,  and  whom  he  loved. 

He  now  gazed  at  some  house,  and  wondered  why  it  was 
built  in  such  a strange  manner ; and  again  he  wondered 
why  the  driver  and  Vanyusha,  who  were  such  strangers 
to  him,  were  so  close  to  him  and  jolted  and  shook  simul- 
taneously with  him  from  the  sudden  jerks  of  the  side 
horses  who  tugged  at  the  frozen  traces,  and  he  repeated, 
“ They  are  fine,  I love  them/’  and  once  he  even  said, 
“ There  she  goes  ! Superb  ! ” and  he  wondered  why  he 
said  that,  and  asked  himself,  “ Am  I drunk  ? ” 

It  is  true  nearly  two  bottles  of  wine  had  fallen  to  his 
share,  but  it  was  not  the  wine  alone  that  had  produced 
that  effect  upon  Olenin.  He  thought  of  what  appeared 
to  him  to  be  the  intimate  words  of  friendship  which  had 
timidly,  as  though  accidentally,  been  told  him  at  his 
departure.  He  thought  of  the  pressure  of  the  hands,  of 
the  glances,  the  silence,  and  the  voice  of  him  who  said 
“ Good-bye,  Mitya ! ” when  he  was  seated  in  the  sleigh. 
He  thought  of  his  own  determined  frankness.  And  all 
this  touched  him. 

Before  his  departure,  not  only  his  friends  and  his  rela~ 
tives,  not  only  indifferent  people,  but  even  those  who  wer6 
unsympathetic,  or  ill- wishing  — all  seemed  to  have  been  in 
league  to  love  him  better,  and  to  forgive  him,  as  before 
confession  or  death. 


87 


88 


THE  COSSACKS 


{ 


“Maybe  I shall  not  return  from  tne  Caucasus,”  he 
thought.  And  he  thought  that  he  loved  his  friends,  and 
somebody  else.  And  he  was  sorry  for  himself.  But  it 
was  not  the  love  for  his  friends  that  touched  him  and 
elevated  his  soul,  so  that  he  was  unable  to  restrain  those 
meaningless  words  that  issued  unbidden  from  his  mouth, 
— nor  was  it  the  love  for  a woman  (he  had  never  loved) 
that  had  brought  him  to  this  state.  It  was  the  love  of 
self,  the  ardent,  hopeful,  young  love  of  everything  good  in 
his  soul  (it  seemed  to  him  that  it  was  filled  with  nothing 
but  that  which  was  good),  that  caused  him  to  weep  and 
mutter  incoherent  words. 

014nin  was  a young  man  who  had  never  finished  his 
university  course ; who  had  never  served  (he  was  merely 
a supernumerary  in  some  government  office) ; who  Jiad 
spent  half  his  fortune ; and  who  until  his  twenty-fourth 
year  had  chosen  no  career  for  himself,  and  had  never  done 
anything.  He  was  what  is  called  a “young  man”  in 
Moscow  society. 

At  eighteen  years  of  age  Olenin  had  been  as  free  as 
only  were  rich  young  Russians  of  the  forties  who  at  an 
early  age  were  left  as  orphans.  He  knew  neither  phys- 
ical nor  moral  fetters ; he  could  do  everything,  and  he 
wanted  nothing,  and  nothing  bound  him.  He  had  neither 
family,  nor  country,  nor  faith,  nor  want.  He  believed  in 
nothing,  and  acknowledged  nothing.  Yet,  though  he 
acknowledged  nothing,  he  was  not  a gloomy,  blase , and 
meditative  youth,  but,  on  the  contrary,  was  easily  carried 
away. 

He  had  decided  that  there  was  no  love,  and  yet  the 
presence  of  a,  young  and  beautiful  woman  made  him 
breathless  with  delight.  He  had  long  known  that  hon- 
ours and  distinction  were  nonsense,  but  he  experienced 
an  involuntary  pleasure  when  Prince  S4rgi  walked  up  to 
him  at  a ball,  and  addressed  him  graciously. 

He  allowed  himself  to  be  carried  away  by  his  raptures 


THE  COSSACKS 


89 


only  so  long  as  they  did  not  bind  him.  The  moment  he 
devoted  himself  to  one  subject,  and  felt  the  approach  of 
labour  and  struggles,  — the  petty  struggles  with  life,  — he 
instinctively  hastened  to  tear  himself  away  from  his  sen- 
timent or  from  affairs,  and  to  regain  his  liberty.  Thus 
he  had  begun  his  worldly  life,  his  service,  farming,  music, 
to  which  he  thought  at  one  time  of  devoting  himself,  and 
even  love  of  women,  in  which  he  did  not  believe. 

He  pondered  how  to  expend  all  that  strength  of  youth, 
which  comes  to  man  only  once  in  a lifetime,  — whether 
on  art.  on  science,  on  love  for  a woman,  or  on  practical 
life;  he  wished  to  employ  not  the  power  of  his  mind, 
heart,  and  education,  but  that  unrepeated  impulse,  that 
power,  granted  to  man  but  once,  to  make  of  himself 
everything  he  wishes,  and,  as  he  thinks,  everything  of 
the  world  he  may  wish. 

It  is  true  there  are  people  who  lack  this  impulse,  and 
who,  upon  entering  life,  put  on  the  first  yoke  they  find, 
and  continue  to  work  honestly  in  it  until  the  end  of  their 
days.  But  014nin  was  too  vividly  conscious  of  the 
presence  of  that  all-powerful  god  of  youth,  of  that  ability 
to  transform  himself  into  one  desire  and  one  thought,  of 
the  ability  to  wish  and  do,  to  throw  himself  headlong 
into  a bottomless  abyss,  not  knowing  why,  or  wherefore. 
He  carried  this  consciousness  with  him,  was  proud  of  it, 
and,  without  knowing  it,  was  happy  in  its  possession. 

So  far  he  had  loved  himself  only,  nor  could  he  help 
loving  himself,  because  he  expected  nothing  but  good 
things  of  himself,  and  had  not  yet  been  disappointed  in 
himself.  At  his  departure  from  Moscow  he  was  in  that 
happy,  youthful  frame  of  mind  when  a young  man, 
having  become  conscious  of  his  previous  mistakes,  sud- 
denly says  to  himself  that  the  past  was  wrong,  that 
everything  that  preceded  was  accidental  and  insignificant, 
that  he  had  not  heretofore  tried  to  live  decently,  but  that 
now,  with  his  departure  from  Moscow,  a new  life  would 


90 


THE  COSSACKS 


begin,  in  which  there  would  be  none  of  those  blunders, 
and  no  remorse,  and  in  which  he  certainly  would  be 
happy. 

When  one  sets  out  for  a long  journey,  the  imagination 
at  the  first  two  stages  remains  in  the  place  whence  one 
has  set  out;  then,  suddenly,  on  the  first  morning  which 
one  passes  on  the  road,  one  is  transferred  to  the  goal  of 
the  journey,  and  there  builds  castles  of  the  future.  The 
same  happened  to  014nin. 

As  he  drove  out  of  the  city,  and  gazed  at  the  snow- 
covered  fields,  he  rejoiced  at  being  all  alone  in  their 
midst,  wrapped  himself  in  his  fur  coat,  let  himself  down 
in  the  bed  of  the  sleigh,  became  calm,  and  dozed  off.  His 
leave-taking  with  his  friends  unstrung  him,  and  he  recalled 
his  whole  last  winter  which  he  had  passed  in  Moscow ; 
and  pictures  of  that  past,  interrupted  by  indistinct 
thoughts  and  reproaches,  began  to  rise  unbidden  before 
his  imagination. 

He  recalled  the  friend  who  had  seen  him  off,  and  his 
relations  with  the  maiden  of  whom  they  had  been  speak- 
ing. That  girl  was  rich.  “ How  could  he  have  loved 
her,  when  he  knew  that  she  was  in  love  with  me  ? ” he 
thought,  and  evil  suspicions  rose  in  his  mind.  “When 
you  come  to  think  of  it,  there  is  much  dishonesty  in 
people.  But  why  have  I not  yet  loved?”  the  question 
occurred  to  him.  “ Everybody  tells  me  that  I have  not 
yet  loved.  Am  I really  a moral  monster  ? ” 

And  he  began  to  recall  the  subjects  of  his  temporary 
transports.  He  recalled  the  first  experience  of  his  worldly 
life,  and  the  sister  of  one  of  his  friends,  with  whom  he 
used  to  pass  evenings  at  the  table  with  a lamp  upon  it 
that  cast  a light  upon  her  slender  fingers  at  work,  and 
upon  the  lower  part  of  her  fair  oval  face,  and  he  remem- 
bered those  conversations  that  dragged  along  like  a 
child’s  game  called  “the  fox  is  alive,”  and  the  general 
awkwardness,  and  the  embarrassment,  and  the  continuous 


THE  COSSACKS 


91 


feeling  of  provocation  at  this  strained  relation.  A voice 
told  him,  “ It  is  not  that,  not  that,”  and  it  really  turned 
out  that  way. 

Then  he  recalled  the  ball  and  the  mazurka  with  beauti- 
ful D , “How  I was  in  love  that  night,  and  how 

happy  I was  ! And  how  pained  and  mortified  I was  when 
1 awoke  the  next  morning,  and  felt  that  I was  free  ! Why 
does  not  love  come  ? and  bind  my  hands  and  feet  ? ” he 
thought.  “ No,  there  is  no  love!  My  neighbour,  who 
told  me,  and  Dubrovin,  and  the  marshal  of  nobility,  that 
she  loved  the  stars,  was  not  that  either.” 

And  he  thought  of  his  farming  activity  in  the  country, 
and  found  no  pleasant  incident  upon  which  to  rest  his 
memory.  “ Will  they  think  for  a long  time  of  my  depar- 
ture ? ” it  suddenly  occurred  to  him.  But  whom  did  he 
mean  by  “ they  ” ? He  did  not  know,  and  immediately  a 
thought  came  to  him  that  made  him  frown  and  utter 
indistinct  sounds:  it  was  the  recollection  of  M.  Capelle 
and  the  678  roubles  which  he  owed  his  tailor;  and  he 
recalled  the  words  with  which  he  begged  the  tailor  to 
wait  another  year,  and  the  expression  of  amazement  and 
of  submission  to  fate  which  appeared  on  the  tailor’s 
countenance. 

“ 0 Lord,  Lord ! ” he  repeated,  blinking,  and  trying  to 
dispel  the  unbearable  thought.  “ And  yet,  she  loved  me, 
in  spite  of  it,”  he  thought  of  the  maiden  of  whom  they 
had  been  speaking  at  the  leave-taking.  “If  I married 
her,  I should  have  no  debts,  but  now  I still  owe 
Vasilev.” 

And  he  recalled  the  last  evening  which  he  had  passed 
at  the  gaming-table  with  Vasilev  in  the  club,  whither  he 
had  driven  straight  from  her  house ; and  he  recalled  his 
humiliating  requests  to  continue  playing,  and  Vasilev’s 
cold  refusals.  “ One  year  of  strict  economy,  and  all  that 
will  be  paid,  and  the  devil  take  them  — ” But  in  spite 
of  his  self-assurance,  he  again  started  to  count  up  his 


92 


THE  COSSACKS 


debts,  and  to  consider  when  they  would  fall  due,  or  when 
he  should  be  able  to  pay  them. 

“ Why,  I owe  Morelle,  also,  in  addition  to  Chevalier,” 
he  suddenly  thought,  and  the  whole  night  in  which  he  had 
run  up  such  a bill  stood  before  him.  It  was  a carousal 
with  the  gipsies,  which  was  given  by  some  visitors  from 

St.  Petersburg,  Sashka  B , aid-de-camp,  and  Prince 

D , and  that  distinguished  old  gentleman.  “ What 

makes  those  gentlemen  so  satisfied  with  themselves  ?”  he 
thought.  “ And  on  what  ground  do  they  form  a separate 
circle  to  which  others  ought  to  feel  themselves  flattered  to 
be  admitted  ? Because  they  are  aids-de-camp  ? It  is 
really  terrible  what  stupid  and  mean  people  they  consider 
others  to  be ! However,  I showed  them  that  I did  not 
have  the  least  desire  to  get  better  acquainted  with  them. 
Still,  I think,  Manager  Audrey  would  be  very  much  puz- 
zled if  he  heard  me  saying  ‘ thou 9 to  such  a gentleman  as 

Sashka  B , colonel  and  aid-de-camp  — And  nobody 

drank  as  much  as  I on  that  evening  ; I taught  the  gipsies 
a new  song,  and  everybody  listened.  Though  I have  done 
many  a foolish  thing,  I am  a nice,  a very  nice  young  man,” 
he  thought. 

The  morning  found  Olenin  at  the  third  stage.  He 
drank  tea,  transferred  with  Vanyusha’s  aid  the  bundles 
and  portmanteaus,  and  sat  down  gravely,  precisely,  and 
accurately  among  them,  knowing  where  each  thing  was, 
— where  the  money  was  and  how  much  of  it ; where  the 
passport,  and  the  stage  permit,  and  the  highway  receipt 
were,  — and  all  that  seemed  to  him  so  practically  arranged 
that  he  was  happy,  and  the  distant  journey  presented 
itself  to  him  as  a protracted  outing. 

During  the  morning  and  midday  he  was  lost  in  arith- 
metical calculations : how  many  versts  he  had  behind 
him ; how  many  were  left  to  the  next  station ; how  many 
to  the  nearest  town ; to  dinner,  to  tea,  to  Stavrdpol ; and 
what  part  of  the  whole  road  he  had  behind  him.  At  the 


THE  COSSACKS 


93 


same  time  he  calculated  how  much  money  he  had  ; how 
much  there  would  be  left;  how  much  he  needed  to 
acquit  himself  of  all  his  debts ; and  what  part  of  his  whole 
income  he  would  spend  in  a month.  In  the  evening, 
after  having  had  his  tea,  he  figured  out  that  to  Stavropol 
seven-elevenths  of  the  whole  road  were  left;  his  debts 
amounted  to  but  seven  months  of  strict  economy,  and  to 
one-eighth  of  his  fortune ; and  having  calmed  himself,  he 
wrapped  himself  up,  let  himself  down  in  the  bed  of  the 
sleigh,  and  again  fell  asleep. 

His  imagination  now  was  in  the  future,  in  the  Cau- 
casus. All  his  dreams  of  the  future  were  connected  with 
pictures  of  Amalat-bek,1  Circassian  maidens,  mountains, 
avalanches,  terrible  torrents,  and  perils.  All  that  pre- 
sented itself  in  a dim  and  indistinct  shape ; but  enticing 
glory  and  threatening  death  formed  the  chief  interest  of 
that  future. 

How,  with  extraordinary  valour  and  surprising  strength, 
he  killed  and  vanquished  an  endless  number  of  moun- 
taineers ; now  he  was  himself  a mountaineer,  and  to- 
gether with  them  defended  his  independence  against  the 
Russians.  The  moment  he  thought  out  the  details,  he 
found  the  old  Moscow  faces  taking  part  in  them.  Sashka 

B fought  with  the  Russians,  or  mountaineers,  against 

him.  He  knew  not  how,  but  even  M.  Capelle,  the  tailor, 
took  part  in  the  victor’s  triumph. 

If  he  recalled  his  old  humiliations,  foibles,  and  mistakes 
in  connection  with  this,  that  reminiscence  gave  him  only 
pleasure.  It  was  clear  that  there,  amidst  the  mountains, 
torrents,  Circassian  maidens,  and  perils,  these  mistakes 
could  not  be  repeated.  Having  once  made  that  confession 
to  himself,  there  was  an  end  to  them. 

There  was  one,  the  most  precious  dream,  which  mingled 
in  every  thought  of  the  young  man  about  the  future. 
This  dream  was  woman.  There,  among  the  mountains, 
1 Character  in  a novel  by  Bestuzhev-Marlinski. 


94 


THE  COSSACKS 


she  presented  herself  to  his  imagination  in  the  shape  of  a 
Circassian  slave,  with  a slender  figure,  long  braid,  and 
submissive,  deep  eyes.  He  saw  in  the  mountains  a lonely 
cabin,  and  her  on  the  threshold,  waiting  for  him  while  he 
returned  to  her  tired,  covered  with  dust,  blood,  and 
glory ; and  he  dreamed  of  her  kisses,  her  shoulders,  her 
sweet  voice,  her  submissiveness.  She  was  charming,  but 
uneducated,  wild,  coarse. 

In  the  long  winter  evenings  he  would  begin  to  educate 
her.  She  was  intelligent,  quick-witted,  gifted,  and  rapidly 
acquired  all  the  necessary  information.  Why  not  ? She 
might  easily  learn  the  languages,  read  the  productions  of 
French  literature,  and  understand  them.  “ Notre  Dame 
de  Paris,”  for  example,  would  no  doubt  please  her.  She 
might  even  speak  French.  In  the  drawing-room  she 
might  possess  more  native  dignity  than  a lady  of  the 
highest  circles  of  society.  She  could  sing,  simply,  power- 
fully, and  passionately. 

“ Oh,  what  bosh  ! ” he  said  to  himself. 

Just  then  they  arrived  at  some  station,  and  it  was 
necessary  to  climb  from  one  sleigh  into  another,  and 
to  give  a pourboire.  But  he  again  searched  with  his 
imagination  for  the  nonsense  which  he  had  left  off,  and 
again  there  stood  before  him  Circassian  maidens,  glory, 
return  to  Russia,  an  aid-de-campship,  a charming  wife. 
“ But  there  is  no  love  ! ” he  said  to  himself.  “ Honours 
are  nonsense.  And  the  six  hundred  and  seventy-eight 
roubles  ? And  the  conquered  territory  which  would  give 
me  more  wealth  than  I should  need  for  all  my  life  ? 
Indeed,  it  will  not  be  well  to  make  use  of  all  that  wealth 
by  myself.  I shall  have  to  distribute  it.  But  to  whom  ? 
Six  hundred  and  seventy-eight  roubles  to  Capelle,  and 
then  we  will  see  — ” 

And  dim  visions  shrouded  his  thoughts,  and  only 
Vanyusha’s  voice  and  a feeling  of  interrupted  motion 
disturbed  his  sound,  youthful  sleep,  and,  without  being 


THE  COSSACKS 


95 


conscious  of  it,  he  crawled  into  another  sleigh  at  the 
following  station,  and  travelled  on. 

The  next  morning  was  the  same,  — the  same  stations, 
the  same  tea-drinking,  the  same  cruppers  of  the  horses  in 
motion,  the  same  short  chats  with  Vanyusha,  the  same 
indistinct  dreams  and  the  drowsiness  in  the  evening 
and  the  tired,  sound,  youthful  sleep  during  the  night. 


III. 


The  farther  Olenin  travelled  from  the  centre  of  Russia, 
the  more  distant  his  memories  seemed  to  him ; and  the 
nearer  he  approached  the  Caucasus,  the  happier  he  felt. 
“ To  go  away  for  ever,  and  never  to  come  back,  and  not 
to  appear  in  society it  sometimes  occurred  to  him. 
“ The  people  that  I see  here  are  no  people ; no  one 
knows  me  here,  and  not  one  of  them  can  ever  be  in 
Moscow  and  in  the  society  in  which  I moved,  or  find  out 
anything  about  my  past.  And  not  one  of  that  society 
will  ever  know  what  I was  doing  when  I lived  among 
those  people.” 

And  an  entirely  new  feeling  of  freedom  from  his  whole 
past  seized  him  among  the  vulgar  beings  whom  he  met  on 
the  road,  and  whom  he  did  not  regard  as  people  on  the 
same  level  with  his  Moscow  acquaintances.  The  coarser 
the  people  were,  and  the  fewer  the  signs  of  civilization,  the 
freer  he  felt  himself. 

Stavropol,  through  which  he  passed,  mortified  him. 
The  shop-signs,  — nay,  French  signs,  — the  ladies  in  a car- 
riage, the  cabmen  who  stood  in  the  square,  the  boulevard, 
and  a gentleman  in  an  overcoat  and  hat,  who  was  strolling 
in  the  boulevard  and  glancing  at  the  stranger,  affected 
him  painfully.  “ Maybe  these  people  know  some  of  my 
acquaintances,”  and  he  again  recalled  the  club,  the  tailor, 
the  cards,  and  society  — 

After  Stavropol,  however,  everything  went  satisfac- 
torily : it  was  all  wild  and,  besides,  beautiful  and  warlike. 
And  Olenin  grew  happier  and  happier.  All  the  Cossacks, 

96 


THE  COSSACKS 


97 


drivers,  and  inspectors  seemed  to  him  to  be  simple 
creatures  with  whom  he  could  make  simple  jokes,  and 
chat,  without  stopping  to  consider  to  what  class  of  society 
they  belonged.  They  all  belonged  to  the  human  race, 
which  was  unconsciously  dear  to  Olenin,  and  they  all 
were  friendly  to  him. 

As  far  back  as  the  Land  of  the  Don  Army  his  sleigh 
had  been  exchanged  for  a cart,  and  beyond  Stavropol  it 
grew  so  warm  that  Olenin  travelled  without  a fur  coat. 
It  was  spring,  an  unexpected,  joyous  spring  for  Olenin. 

At  night  they  could  not  leave  the  villages,  and  they 
said  that  in  the  evening  it  was  dangerous  to  travel; 
Vanyusha  shuddered,  and  a loaded  gun  lay  in  the  stage 
vehicle.  Olenin  felt  happier  still.  At  one  station,  the 
inspector  told  of  a terrible  murder  that  had  lately  hap- 
pened on  the  road.  They  now  and  then  met  armed  men. 

“ That  is  where  it  begins ! ” Olenin  said  to  himself,  and 
waited  for  the  sight  of  the  snow-capped  mountains,  about 
which  he  had  been  told  so  much.  Once,  toward  evening, 
a Nogay  driver  pointed  with  his  whip  at  the  mountains 
beyond  the  clouds.  Olenin  eagerly  looked  at  them,  but 
it  was  misty,  and  the  clouds  half-concealed  the  moun- 
tains. Olenin  saw  something  gray,  white,  and  fleecy,  and, 
however  much  he  tried,  he  could  not  find  anything 
attractive  in  the  view  of  the  mountains,  of  which  he  had 
read  and  heard  so  much.  He  concluded  that  the  moun- 
tains and  the  clouds  looked  precisely  alike,  and  that  the 
special  beauty  of  the  snow-capped  mountains,  of  which 
he  had  been  told  so  much,  was  just  such  a fiction 
as  Bach’s  music,  and  the  love  for  a woman,  in  neither 
of  which  he  believed,  and  he  ceased  waiting  for  the 
mountains. 

But  on  the  following  day,  early  in  the  morning,  he 
was  awakened  by  the  dampness  in  his  vehicle,  and 
he  indifferently  turned  his  eyes  to  the  right.  It  was 
a very  clear  morning.  Suddenly  he  saw,  some  twenty 


98 


THE  COSSACKS 


steps  from  him,  as  he  thought  at  first,  pure  white  masses, 
with  their  delicate  contours  and  the  fantastic  and  sharply 
defined  outline  of  their  summits,  against  the  distant  sky. 
And  when  he  became  aware  of  the  great  distance  between 
him  and  the  mountains  and  the  sky,  and  of  the  immen- 
sity of  the  mountains,  and  when  he  felt  the  immeasurable- 
ness of  that  beauty,  he  was  frightened,  thinking  that  it 
was  a vision,  a dream.  He  shook  himself,  in  order  to 
be  rid  of  his  sleep.  The  mountains  remained  the  same. 

“ What  is  this  ? What  is  it  ? ” he  asked  the  driver. 

"The  mountains,”  the  Nogay  answered,  with  indiffer- 
ence. 

“ I myself  have  been  looking  at  them  for  a long  time,” 
said  Vanyusha.  “ It  is  beautiful!  They  will  not  believe 
it  at  home  ! ” 

In  the  rapid  motion  of  the  vehicle  over  the  even  road, 
the  mountains  seemed  to  be  running  along  the  horizon, 
gleaming  in  the  rising  sun  with  their  rosy  summits.  At 
first  the  mountains  only  surprised  Olenin,  but  later  they 
gave  him  pleasure.  And  later,  as  he  gazed  longer  at  this 
chain  of  snow-capped  mountains,  which  were  not  con- 
nected with  other  black  mountains,  but  rose  directly 
from  the  steppe,  he  began  by  degrees  to  understand  their 
full  beauty,  and  to  “ feel  ” the  mountains. 

From  that  moment,  everything  he  saw,  everything  he 
thought,  everything  he  felt,  assumed  for  him  a new, 
severely  majestic  character,  that  of  the  mountains.  All 
the  Moscow  reminiscences,  his  shame  and  remorse,  all  the 
trite  dreams  of  the  Caucasus,  everything  disappeared, 
and  never  returned  again.  “ Now  it  has  begun,”  a solemn 
voice  said  to  him.  And  the  road,  and  the  distant  line 
of  the  Terek,  and  the  villages,  and  the  people,  all  that 
appeared  to  him  no  longer  a trifling  matter. 

He  looked  at  the  sky,  and  he  thought  of  the  moun- 
tains. He  looked  at  himself,  and  at  Vanyusha,  — and 
again  the  mountains.  There,  two  Cossacks  rode  by,  and 


THE  COSSACKS 


99 


their  muskets  in  cases  evenly  vibrated  on  their  backs, 
and  their  horses  intermingled  their  chestnut  and  gray 
legs,  — and  the  mountains.  Beyond  the  T4rek  was  seen 
the  smoke  in  a native  village,  — and  the  mountains. 

The  sun  rose  and  glistened  on  the  T4rek  beyond  the 
reeds,  — and  the  mountains.  From  the  Cossack  village 
came  a native  cart,  and  women,  beautiful  young  women, 
walked,  — and  the  mountains.  “ Abreks 1 race  through 
the  steppes,  and  I am  travelling,  and  fear  them  not : I have 
a gun,  and  strength,  and  youth,”  — and  the  mountains. 


1 Mountaineer  braves. 


IV. 


The  whole  part  of  the  T^rek  line,  along  which  the 
Greb4n  Cossack  villages  are  located,  is  about  eighty 
versts  long,  and  bears  a uniform  character,  both  as  to 
topography  and  population.  The  Terek,  which  divides 
the  Cossacks  from  the  mountaineers,  flows  turbidly  and 
rapidly,  but  now  broadly  and  calmly,  continually  deposit- 
ing the  grayish  sand  on  the  low,  reed-covered  right  bank, 
and  washing  away  the  steep,  but  not  high,  left  shore  with 
its  roots  of  century  oaks,  rotting  plane-trees,  and  young 
underbrush. 

On  the  right  bank  are  situated  peaceful,  but  still  rest- 
less, native  villages ; on  the  left  bank  lie  the  Cossack 
villages,  at  half  a verst  from  the  river,  and  at  the  distance 
of  from  seven  to  eight  versts  from  each  other.  In  former 
days  the  greater  number  of  these  villages  were  on  the 
very  shore ; but  the  T4rek  deflected  every  year  more  and 
more  to  the  north  of  the  mountains,  and  undermined 
them,  so  that  now  only  weed-grown  old  town  locations, 
gardens,  pear-trees,  plum-trees  and  poplars,  intertwined 
with  blackberry -bushes  and  wild-growing  grape-vines,  may 
be  seen  in  those  places.  Nobody  lives  there,  and  in  the 
sand  may  be  noticed  the  tracks  of  deer,  boars,  hares,  and 
pheasants,  who  have  taken  a liking  to  these  spots. 

From  Cossack  village  to  village  runs  a road  as  straight 
as  an  arrow,  cut  through  the  woods.  Along  the  road  are 
placed  cordons  in  which  Cossacks  are  located  ; between  the 
cordons  sentinels  are  stationed  in  watch-towers.  Only 

100 


THE  COSSACKS 


101 


a narrow  strip  of  fertile  woodland,  about  two  thousand 
feet  in  width,  forms  the  possession  of  the  Cossacks. 

To  the  north  of  them  begin  the  sand-dunes  of  the 
Nogay  or  Mozdok  steppe,  which  extends  far  to  the  north 
and  connects,  God  knows  where,  with  the  Trukhm4n, 
the  Astrakhan,  and  the  Kirgiz-Kaysak  steppes.  To  the 
south,  beyond  the  T£rek,  are  the  Great  Chechnya,  the 
Kochkalosov  chain,  the  Black  Mountains,  another  range, 
and  finally  the  snow-capped  mountains,  which  are  just 
visible,  but  which  have  never  been  traversed  by  any  one. 
In  this  fertile,  wooded  strip,  rich  in  vegetation,  has  lived 
since  time  immemorial  a warlike,  handsome,  and  rich 
Russian  population  of  dissenters,  called  the  Greben 
Cossacks. 

Long,  long  ago,  their  ancestors,  the  dissenters,  had  run 
away  from  Russia  and  settled  beyond  the  T^rek,  between 
the  Chechdns  on  the  Greben,  — the  first  range  of  wooded 
mountains  of  the  Great  Chechnya.  Living  among  the 
Chechens,  the  Cossacks  have  intermarried  with  them,  and 
have  adopted  the  customs,  manner  of  life,  and  habits  of 
the  mountaineers;  but  they  have  retained,  in  all  their 
former  purity,  the  Russian  language  and  ancient  faith. 

There  is  still  living  a tradition  among  these  Cossacks 
which  tells  that  the  Tsar  Ivan  the  Terrible  came  to  the 
T4rek,  called  the  old  men  from  the  Greben  into  his  pres- 
ence, gave  them  land  on  this  side  of  the  river,  advised 
them  to  live  in  peace,  and  promised  them  not  to  disturb 
their  independence,  nor  to  compel  them  to  change  their 
faith. 

Even  now  the  Cossack  families  count  their  relationship 
with  the  Chechens,  and  their  love  of  freedom,  indolence, 
pillage,  and  war  form  the  chief  features  of  their  character. 
The  influence  of  Russia  finds  its  expression  from  its  dis- 
advantageous side  in  the  elections,  the  removal  of  bells, 
and  in  the  army  which  is  stationed  there  or  passes 
through. 


102 


THE  COSSACKS 


A Cossack,  by  his  natural  inclination,  hates  less  a war- 
rior brave  who  has  killed  his  brother,  than  a soldier  who 
is  stationed  there  to  defend  his  village,  but  who  has 
smoked  up  his  cabin  with  tobacco.  He  respects  the 
hostile  mountaineer,  but  despises  the  soldier,  who  is  a 
stranger  to  him,  and  an  oppressor.  A Russian  peasant 
proper  is  to  the  Cossack  a strange,  wild,  and  contemptible 
creature,  not  different  from  the  Little-Russian  peddlers 
and  immigrants  whom  he  has  seen,  and  whom  he  con- 
temptuously designates  as  “ fullers” 

His  dandyism  consists  in  imitating  the  Chechen  attire. 
He  gets  his  best  ammunition  from  the  mountaineers,  and 
his  best  horses  are  bought  and  stolen  from  them.  A 
young  Cossack  brags  of  his  knowledge  of  the  Tartar 
language,  and  when  he  is  carousing  speaks  in  Tartar  even 
to  his  brother  Cossack.  In  spite  of  this,  these  Christian 
people,  lost  in  a corner  of  the  earth,  and  surrounded  by 
semi-savage  Mohammedan  tribes  and  by  soldiers,  regard 
themselves  as  highly  civilized,  and  consider  none  but 
Cossacks  to  be  men ; upon  everybody  else  they  look  with 
contempt. 

A Cossack  passes  the  greater  part  of  his  life  in  the  cor- 
dons, in  expeditions,  hunting,  or  fishing.  He  hardly  ever 
works  at  home.  His  presence  in  the  village  is  an  excep- 
tion, and  then  he  carouses.  The  Cossacks  all  have  wine 
of  their  own,  and  intoxication  is  not  so  much  a common 
weakness  of  theirs,  as  a ceremony,  the  neglect  of  which 
would  be  considered  an  apostasy. 

Upon  woman  a Cossack  looks  as  an  implement  of  his 
well-being.  A maiden  is  permitted  to  take  things  easy ; 
but  a wife  is  compelled  to  work  for  him  from  youth  to 
advanced  old  age ; he  looks  upon  woman  with  the 
Eastern  conception  of  submissiveness  and  labour.  In 
consequence  of  this  view,  a woman,  whose  physical  and 
moral  development  is  intensified,  outwardly  submits,  but 
at  the  same  time  has,  as  generally  in  the  East,  an  incom- 


THE  COSSACKS 


103 


parably  greater  influence  and  weight  in  her  domestic  life 
than  women  have  in  the  West.  Her  removal  from  pub- 
lic life,  and  her  habit  of  doing  man’s  heavy  work,  give  her 
greater  weight  and  power  in  her  domestic  life. 

A Cossack,  who  considers  it  indecent  to  speak  kindly 
or  leisurely  with  his  wife  in  the  presence  of  strangers, 
involuntarily  feels  her  superiority  when  he  is  left  with 
her  without  witnesses.  The  whole  house,  all  the  prop- 
erty, all  the  farm,  is  acquired  by  her,  and  is  maintained 
by  her  labour  and  care.  Although  he  is  firmly  convinced 
that  work  is  disgraceful  for  a Cossack,  and  becoming  only 
to  a Nogay  labourer  and  to  a woman,  he  feels  vaguely 
that  everything  he  uses  and  calls  his  own  is  the  result  of 
this  labour,  and  that  it  lies  in  the  power  of  woman,  of  his 
mother  and  his  wife,  whom  he  regards  as  his  slave,  to 
deprive  him  of  everything  which  he  uses. 

Besides  this,  the  continuous  heavy  man’s  labour,  and 
the  cares  that  are  put  into  her  hands,  have  given  the 
Greben  woman  an  unusually  independent  and  manly 
character,  and  have  developed  to  an  astonishing  degree 
her  physical  strength,  sound  common  sense,  determination, 
and  firmness  of  character.  The  women  are  generally  more 
intelligent,  more  developed  and  beautiful  than  the  men. 
The  beauty  of  a Greben  woman  is  particularly  striking  by 
its  combination  of  the  purest  type  of  the  Caucasian  face 
with  the  broad  and  powerful  build  of  the  northern 
woman. 

The  Cossack  women  wear  the  Caucasian  garb : the 
Tartar  shirt,  half-coat,  and  foot-gear ; but  they  wrap 
their  heads  with  a kerchief  in  the  Russian  fashion.  The 
foppishness,  cleanliness,  and  elegance  of  their  attire,  and 
the  arrangement  of  their  cabins,  constitute  a habit  and 
necessity  of  their  lives.  In  regard  to  men,  the  women, 
and  especially  the  maidens,  enjoy  absolute  freedom. 

The  village  of  Novomlm  has  been  considered  to  be  the 
root  of  the  Greben  Cossacks.  Here,  more  than  elsewhere. 


104 


THE  COSSACKS 


the  customs  of  the  old  Greb^ns  have  been  preserved,  and 
the  women  of  this  village  have  ever  been  famous  for  their 
beauty  in  the  whole  Caucasus.  The  Cossacks  gain  a sub- 
sistence from  their  vineyards  and  fruit-gardens,  from  their 
fields  of  melons  and  pumpkins,  from  fishing  and  hunting, 
from  their  fields  of  maize  and  millet,  and  from  rapine. 

The  village  of  Novomlm  is  three  versts  distant  from 
the  Terek,  from  which  it  is  separated  by  a dense  forest. 
On  one  side  of  the  road,  which  runs  through  the  village, 
is  the  river;  on  the  other  are  the  green  vineyards  and 
gardens,  and  may  be  seen  the  sand-dunes  of  the  Nogay 
steppe.  The  village  is  surrounded  by  an  earthen  rampart 
and  prickly  hedge.  One  enters  into  and  issues  from  the 
village  through  a tall  gate,  swinging  on  posts,  with  a small, 
reed-thatched  roof,  near  which  is  placed,  on  a wooden  gun- 
carriage,  a monstrous  cannon  which  has  not  been  fired  for 
a hundred  years,  and  which  had  been  at  one  time  taken 
from  the  enemy  by  the  Cossacks.  A Cossack  in  uniform, 
sabre,  and  with  his  gun,  sometimes  stands  sentinel  at  the 
gate,  and  just  as  often  he  is  not  there ; sometimes  he  pre- 
sents arms  to  a passing  officer,  and  sometimes  not. 

Under  the  roof  of  the  gate  there  is  a white  board  with 
the  following  inscription  in  black  letters:  “Houses,  266; 
male  souls,  897  ; female  souls,  1,012.”  The  houses  of  the 
Cossacks  are  all  raised  on  posts,  three  feet  or  more  from 
the  ground,  are  neatly  thatched  with  reeds,  and  have  a 
ridge-piece.  Though  they  are  not  all  new,  they  are 
straight,  with  high  porches  of  various  shapes,  and  are  not 
attached  one  to  another,  but  are  freely  and  picturesquely 
scattered  along  broad  streets  and  lanes.  In  front  of  the 
bright,  large  windows  of  many  cabins,  tower  above  them 
dark  green  poplars,  tender,  pale-foliaged  acacias  with  white 
fragrant  flowers,  boldly  shining  sunflowers,  and  twining 
pinks  and  grape-vines. 

On  the  broad  square  are  to  be  seen  three  little  shops 
where  may  be  found  dry  goods,  pumpkin  seeds,  St.  John's 


THE  COSSACKS 


105 


bread,  and  cake ; and  behind  a high  enclosure,  back  of  a 
row  of  old  poplars,  is  visible,  longer  and  taller  than  the 
rest,  the  house  of  the  commander  of  the  regiment,  with 
double- winged  windows.  During  week-days,  particularly 
in  the  summer,  but  few  people  may  be  seen  in  the  streets 
of  the  village.  The  Cossacks  are  on  service,  in  the  cor- 
dons and  expeditions ; the  old  men  are  out  hunting,  fish- 
ing, or  helping  the  women  in  the  gardens  and  orchards 
Only  the  very  old  and  young  remain  at  home. 


V. 


It  was  one  of  those  peculiar  evenings  which  one  finds 
only  in  the  Caucasus.  The  sun  had  set  behind  the  moun- 
tains, but  it  was  still  light.  The  evening  glow  embraced 
one-third  of  the  heaven,  and  the  dull  white  masses  of  the 
mountains  stood  out  sharply  in  the  light  of  the  setting 
sun.  The  air  was  rarefied,  immovable,  and  replete  with 
echoes.  A shadow,  several  versts  in  length,  fell  from  the 
mountains  upon  the  steppe.  In  the  steppe,  beyond  the 
river,  along  the  roads,  everything  was  quiet. 

Now  and  then  appeared  a few  men  on  horseback : those 
were  Cossacks  from  the  cordon,  or  Chechens  from  their 
village,  who  looked  with  surprise  and  curiosity  at  the 
passengers  in  the  vehicle,  and  tried  to  make  out  who 
those  bad  people  could  be.  As  the  evening,  so  the  people, 
in  dread  of  each  other,  clung  to  the  habitations,  and  only 
beasts  and  birds,  not  fearing  man,  freely  roamed  over  this 
wilderness.  From  the  gardens  hastened,  with  merry 
chatter,  before  sundown,  the  Cossack  women  who  had 
been  tying  up  the  wicker  fences.  And  the  gardens  grew 
as  deserted  as  the  surroundings ; but  the  village  became 
particularly  animated. 

On  all  sides  the  people  moved  on  foot,  on  horseback, 
and  in  squeaky  wooden  carts  to  the  village.  The  girls, 
with  shirts  tucked  up,  and  with  stick  in  hand,  were  run- 
ning, prattling  merrily,  to  the  gate,  to  meet  the  cattle 
that  were  crowding  together  in  a cloud  of  dust  and  gnats 
which  they  had  brought  with  them  from  the  steppe.  The 
well-fed  cows  and  buffaloes  scattered  along  the  streets, 

106 


THE  COSSACKS 


107 


and  the  Cossack  women,  in  their  coloured  half-coats,  were 
mingling  with  them.  One  could  hear  their  shrill  chatter, 
their  merry  laugh,  and  their  screams,  interrupted  by  the 
lowing  of  the  cattle. 

Here,  a Cossack,  in  accoutrements  and  on  horseback, 
who  had  received  his  leave  from  the  cordon,  rode  up  to  a 
cabin  and,  bending  down,  tapped  at  the  window ; and,  in 
reply  to  the  tap,  appeared  the  beautiful  head  of  a young 
Cossack  woman,  and  one  might  hear  tender  words  of  affec- 
tion. There,  a broad-cheeked,  tattered  Nogay  labourer, 
having  arrived  with  reeds  from  the  steppe,  turned  the 
squeaking  cart  into  the  captain’s  clean,  broad  yard,  threw 
down  the  yoke  from  the  oxen,  who  shook  their  heads,  and 
passed  a few  Tartar  words  with  the  master. 

Near  the  puddle,  which  occupied  nearly  the  whole 
street,  and  where  people  had  been  walking  so  many  years, 
a barefooted  Cossack  woman,  clinging  close  to  the  fences, 
made  her  way  with  a bundle  of  firewood  on  her  back, 
raising  her  shirt  high  above  her  white  feet.  A Cossack, 
returning  from  the  hunt,  cried  out  to  her,  “ Lift  it  higher, 
shameless  one,”  and  aimed  his  gun  at  her.  The  Cossack 
woman  let  her  shirt  fall,  and  dropped  her  wood. 

An  old  Cossack,  with  rolled-up  trousers,  and  gray  bosom 
exposed,  returning  from  his  sport,  carried  on  his  shoulder 
a basket  with  quivering  silvery  trout;  to  make  a short 
cut,  he  climbed  across  his  neighbour’s  broken  fence,  and 
pulled  off  his  coat,  which  was  caught  upon  it.  There,  a 
woman  was  dragging  a dry  bough,  and  the  strokes  of  an 
axe  could  be  heard  around  the  corner.  Young  Cossack 
children  screamed,  spinning  their  tops  wherever  they 
could  find  an  even  spot.  Women  climbed  over  fences,  to 
save  walking  around  corners.  From  all  the  chimneys 
rose  the  smoke  from  dung-chips.  In  every  yard  could  be 
heard  an  increased  bustle,  preceding  the  quiet  of  the  night. 

Mother  Ulitka,  the  wife  of  the  ensign  and  schoolmaster, 
went,  like  the  rest,  to  the  gate  of  her  house,  waiting  for 


108 


THE  COSSACKS 


the  cattle  which  her  daughter  Maryanka  was  driving  in 
the  street.  She  had  barely  opened  the  gate,  when  a large 
buffalo-cow,  pursued  by  gnats,  rushed  bellowing  into  the 
yard;  after  her  slowly  came  the  well-fed  cows, recognizing 
their  mistress  with  their  large  eyes,  and  evenly  switching 
their  sides  with  their  tails. 

Stately  and  beautiful  Maryanka  walked  through  the 
gate  and,  throwing  down  the  stick,  fastened  the  gate,  and 
ran  nimbly  to  scatter  the  cattle,  and  drive  them  to  their 
stalls. 

“ Take  off  your  shoes,  devil’s  daughter,”  cried  her 
mother.  “ You  have  muddied  your  shoes.” 

Maryanka  was  not  in  the  least  insulted  by  being  called 
a devil’s  daughter,  but  accepted  these  words  as  an  expres- 
sion of  affection,  and  continued  at  her  work.  Maryanka’s 
face  was  covered  with  a kerchief;  she  wore  a rose-col- 
oured shirt  and  a green  half-coat.  She  disappeared  under 
the  penthouse,  behind  the  large,  fat  cattle,  and  from  the 
stall  was  heard  her  voice,  gently  admonishing  the  buffalo- 
cow,  “ Why  don’t  you  stand  ? Come  now ! Oh,  there, 
motherkin ! — ” 

After  awhile  the  girl  and  her  mother  came  out  of  the 
stable,  and  walked  to  the  dairy,  carrying  two  large  pots 
of  milk,  — the  day’s  milking.  From  the  clay  chimney  of 
the  dairy  soon  rose  dung  smoke,  and  the  milk  was  changed 
into  boiled  cream.  The  girl  attended  to  the  fire,  and  the 
old  woman  came  out  to  the  gate. 

Darkness  fell  over  the  whole  village.  In  the  air  was 
borne  the  odour  of  vegetables,  of  the  cattle,  and  of  the 
fragrant  dung  smoke.  At  the  gates  and  in  the  streets  ran 
Cossack  women,  carrying  burning  rags  in  their  hands.  In 
the  yards  could  be  heard  the  gasping  and  quiet  chewing 
of  the  cattle  stretching  themselves,  and  the  voices  of 
women  and  children  calling  in  the  courtyards  and  streets. 
On  week-days  a man’s  drunken  voice  is  but  rarely  heard. 

An  old,  tall,  masculine  Cossack  woman,  from  the  house 


THE  COSSACKS 


109 


opposite,  walked  up  to  Mother  Ulitka  to  ask  her  for  fire : 
she  held  a rag  in  her  hand. 

“ Well,  mother,  are  you  all  done  ? ” she  said  to  her. 

“ The  girl  is  making  a fire  in  the  stove.  Do  you  need 
some  light  ? ” said  Mother  Ulitka,  proud  of  being  able  to 
do  her  a favour. 

The  two  women  went  into  the  cabin.  The  coarse 
hands,  unaccustomed  to  small  objects,  trembled  as  she 
tore  off  the  lid  from  the  precious  box  of  matches  which 
are  a rarity  in  the  Caucasus.  The  masculine-looking  vis- 
itor sat  down  on  the  threshold,  with  the  evident  intention 
of  chatting. 

"Well,  motherkin,  is  your  husband  in  the  school  ?” 
the  visitor  asked. 

“ He  is  all  the  time  teaching  the  children,  mother.  He 
wrote  he  would  be  back  for  the  holidays,”  said  the  en- 
sign’s wife. 

“ He  is  a clever  man ; and  cleverness  pays.” 

"Of  course,  it  does.” 

“ But  my  Lukashka  is  in  the  cordon,  and  he  can’t  get 
any  leave  to  come  home,”  said  the  visitor,  although  the 
ensign’s  wife  knew  all  that.  She  could  not  refrain  from 
mentioning  her  Lukashka,  whom  she  had  but  lately 
allowed  to  become  a Cossack,  and  whom  she  was  desirous 
of  marrying  off  to  Maryanka,  the  ensign’s  daughter. 

“ So  he  is  in  the  cordon  ? ” 

“ Yes,  mother.  He  has  not  been  here  since  the  holi- 
days. A few  days  ago  I sent  him  some  shirts  by 
Fomushkin.  He  says  everything  is  well,  and  the  au- 
thorities are  satisfied  with  him.  They  are  looking  for 
abreks,  says  he.  Lukashka,  he  says,  is  happy,  and  every- 
thing is  all  right.” 

“ The  Lord  be  thanked,”  said  the  ensign’s  wife.  “ In 
one  word  he  is  a ‘ saver.’  ” 

Lukashka  was  called  the  “ Saver  ” for  the  bravery 
which  he  had  displayed  in  “ saving  ” a boy  from  drown- 


110 


THE  COSSACKS 


ing.  The  ensign’s  wife  mentioned  this  name,  in  order  to 
say  something  agreeable  to  Lukashka’s  mother. 

“ I thank  God,  mother,  he  is  a good  son.  He  is  a fine 
lad,  everybody  speaks  well  of  him,”  said  Lukashka’s 
mother,  “ only  I should  like  to  see  him  married,  and  then 
I could  die  in  peace.” 

“Well,  are  there  not  enough  girls  in  the  village?” 
replied  the  sly  ensign’s  wife,  carefully  putting  the  lid  on 
the  match-box  with  her  crooked  fingers. 

“ Plenty,  mother,  plenty,”  remarked  Lukashka’s  mother, 
shaking  her  head,  “ but  your  girl,  Maryanka,  your  girl,  I 
say,  is  one  the  like  of  whom  you  will  not  find  in  the  Cos- 
sack settlements.” 

The  ensign’s  wife  knew  the  intention  of  Lukashka’s 
mother ; but,  although  Lukashka  seemed  to  her  to  be  a 
good  Cossack,  she  wanted  to  ward  off  the  subject,  — in 
the  first  place  because  she  was  the  ensign’s  wife,  and  a 
rich  woman,  while  Lukashka  was  the  son  of  a Cossack  of 
the  rank  and  file,  and  poor ; in  the  second  place,  because 
she  did  not  wish  to  lose  her  daughter  so  soon ; but 
chiefly,  because  propriety  demanded  it. 

“Well,  when  Maryanka  grows  up  she  will  be  a nice 
girl,”  she  said,  discreetly  and  modestly. 

“ I will  send  the  go-betweens,  I will.  Just  let  us  get 
the  gardens  in  shape,  and  then  we  will  come  to  ask  your 
favour,”  said  Lukashka’s  mother.  “We  will  come  to  ask 
Ilya  Vasilevich’s  favour.” 

“ What  has  Ilya  to  do  with  it  ? ” the  ensign’s  wife  said, 
proudly.  “ I am  the  person  to  be  asked.  There  is  a time 
for  everything.” 

Lukfishka’s  mother  saw  by  the  stern  face  of  the  ensign’s 
wife  that  it  was  improper  to  continue  the  subject.  She 
lighted  the  rag  with  a match  and,  rising,  said : “ Do  not 
forget,  mother,  but  remember  these  words.  I must  go 
and  start  a fire,”  she  added. 

As  she  crossed  the  street  and  waved  the  lighted  rag  in 


THE  COSSACKS 


111 


her  outstretched  hand,  she  met  Maryanka,  who  bowed  to 
her. 

“ She  is  a queen  of  a girl,  and  a fine  worker,”  she 
thought,  as  she  looked  at  the  fair  maiden.  “ She  has 
done  growing ! It  is  time  for  her  to  get  married  into 
some  good  family,  — yes,  she  ought  to  marry  Lukashka.” 

Mother  Ulitka  had  cares  of  her  own ; she  remained  sit- 
ting on  the  threshold,  and  was  lost  in  thought,  until  her 
daughter  called  her. 


VI. 


The  male  population  of  the  village  pass  their  time  in 
expeditions  and  in  cordons,  or  posts,  as  the  Cossacks  call 
them. 

This  very  Lukashka  the  “ Saver,”  of  whom  the  two  old 
women  had  been  speaking,  was  stationed  that  evening  in 
a watch-tower  of  the  Nizhne-Protdk  post.  This  Nizhne- 
Protok  post  is  situated  on  the  bank  of  the  T4rek.  Lean- 
ing on  the  balustrade  of  the  tower,  he  blinked  and  looked 
into  the  distance  beyond  the  T4rek,  or  upon  his  Cossack 
companions  below  him,  and  from  time  to  time  he  chatted 
with  them. 

The  sun  was  already  approaching  the  snow-covered 
range  which  glistened  white  above  the  fleecy  clouds.  The 
clouds  were  billowing  at  the  bases  of  the  mountains,  and 
assumed  ever  darker  shades.  The  air  was  bathed  in  even- 
ing transparency.  A fresh  breeze  blew  from  the  wild 
overgrown  forest ; but  near  the  post  it  was  still  warm. 

The  voices  of  the  Cossacks  at  conversation  rang  clearer, 
and  reechoed  in  the  air.  The  swift,  cinnamon-coloured 
Tdrek  stood  out,  with  all  its  moving  mass,  more  sharply 
from  its  immovable  banks.  It  was  beginning  to  fall,  and 
here  and  there  the  wet  sand  looked  dark  brown  on  the 
shore  and  in  the  shallows. 

On  the  opposite  shore,  right  across  from  the  cordon, 
there  was  nothing  but  a wilderness : only  low  desert  reeds 
stretched  over  a vast  expanse  as  far  as  the  mountains.  A 
little  on  one  side,  the  clay  houses,  flat  roofs,  and  funnel- 
shaped  chimneys  of  a Chechen  village  could  be  seen  on 

112 


THE  COSSACKS 


113 


the  low  bank.  The  keen  eyes  of  the  Cossack  who  stood 
on  the  tower  watched,  through  the  evening  smoke  of  the 
peaceful  village,  the  flitting  figures  of  the  Chechen  women 
who  moved  in  the  distance,  in  their  blue  and  red  dresses. 

Although  the  Cossacks  expected  that  the  abreks  would 
cross  over  from  the  Tartar  side  and  attack  them  at  any 
time,  but  especially  in  May,  when  the  forest  along  the 
T4rek  is  so  dense  that  a man  on  foot  can  hardly  make  his 
way  through  it,  and  when  the  river  is  so  shallow  that  it 
can  be  forded  on  foot  in  some  places ; and  although  two 
days  before  a Cossack  had  galloped  up  from  the  com- 
mander of  the  regiment  with  a circular  letter  in  which  it 
said  that,  according  to  the  information  given  by  spies,  a 
party  of  eight  men  intended  to  cross  the  T6rek,  and  that, 
therefore,  especial  precautions  were  to  be  observed,  — no 
special  precautions  were  taken  in  the  cordon.  The  Cos- 
sacks acted  as  though  they  were  at  home,  and  they  walked 
about  without  their  guns,  and  their  horses  were  not  sad- 
dled ; some  were  engaged  in  fishing,  some  in  carousing, 
and  others  in  hunting.  Only  the  horse  of  the  officer, of 
the  day  was  saddled,  and  walked  with  three  feet  hobbled 
on  the  greensward  along  the  forest,  and  only  the  Cossack 
on  guard  wore  his  mantle,  musket,  and  sabre. 

The  under-officer,  a tall,  haggard  Cossack,  with  an 
unusually  long  back  and  short  legs  and  arms,  in  nothing 
but  an  unbuttoned  half-coat,  was  sitting  on  the  mound  of 
the  hut,  and,  with  an  expression  of  official  laziness  and 
ennui,  closed  his  eyes,  and  rolled  his  head  from  one  hand 
to  the  other.  An  old  Cossack,  with  a broad,  black  beard, 
streaked  with  gray,  in  nothing  but  his  shirt  girded  with  a 
black  strap,  was  lying  near  the  water,  and  lazily  watching 
the  monotonously  roaring  water  of  the  meandering  T^rek. 
The  others,  who  were  also  tormented  by  the  heat,  were 
half-dressed ; one  was  washing  his  linen  in  the  T^rek ; 
another  was  plaiting  a fishing-line ; another  was  lying  on 
the  ground,  in  the  hot  sand  of  the  bank,  and  mumbling  a 


114 


THE  COSSACKS 


song.  One  Cossack,  with  a haggard  and  swarthy  face, 
lay,  apparently  dead  drunk,  on  his  belly  near  one  of  the 
walls  of  the  hut,  which  some  two  hours  before  had  been 
in  the  shade,  but  upon  which  now  fell  the  burning  slant- 
ing rays. 

Lukashka,  who  was  stationed  in  the  watch-tower,  was 
a handsome  fellow,  about  twenty  years  of  age,  and  very 
much  like  his  mother.  His  face  and  his  whole  figure 
expressed,  in  spite  of  the  angularity  of  youth,  great  phys- 
ical and  moral  strength.  Although  he  had  but  lately  been 
taken  into  the  army,  one  could  see  from  the  broad  features 
of  his  face  and  from  the  calm  self-confidence  of  his  attitude 
that  he  had  already  succeeded  in  acquiring  that  martial 
and  somewhat  proud  bearing,  which  is  characteristic  of 
the  Cossacks  and  of  people  in  general,  who  are  continually 
in  arms,  — that  he  was  a Cossack,  and  that  he  knew  his 
full  value.  His  broad  mantle  was  torn  in  places ; his  cap 
was  poised  jauntily  in  Chechen  fashion ; his  leggings  fell 
below  his  knees.  His  attire  was  not  rich,  but  it  fitted 
him  with  that  Cossack  foppishness  which  consists  in  the 
imitation  of  the  Chechen  braves. 

In  a real  brave  everything  hangs  loosely  and  carelessly 
in  tatters ; only  the  weapons  are  of  the  richest.  But  this 
ragged  attire  and  the  weapons  are  put  on,  girded,  and 
adjusted  in  a certain  fashion,  which  not  everybody  can 
acquire,  and  which  immediately  catches  the  eye  of  a 
Cossack  or  mountaineer.  Lukashka  had  this  appearance 
of  a Chechen  brave.  Placing  his  hands  under  his  sabre, 
and  blinking  with  his  eyes,  he  kept  looking  at  the  dis- 
tant village.  The  separate  features  of  his  face  were  not 
handsome ; but  upon  surveying  at  once  his  stately  form, 
and  his  black-browed  and  intelligent  face,  everybody  would 
involuntarily  say,  “ He  is  a fine  chap ! ” 

“ What  a lot  of  women  that  village  is  pouring  out ! ” he 
said,  in  a sharp  voice,  lazily  opening  his  shining  white 
teeth,  and  speaking  to  nobody  in  particular. 


THE  COSSACKS 


115 


Nazarka,  who  was  lying  below,  immediately  raised  his 
head  and  said : 

“ They  must  be  going  for  water.” 

“ I ought  to  fire  a shot  to  frighten  them,”  said  Luk&shka, 
laughing.  “ How  they  would  squirm ! ” 

“ You  can’t  shoot  so  far ! ” 

“ Indeed  ? Mine  will  shoot  beyond  them.  Just  give  me 
a chance ! When  their  holiday  comes,  I will  visit  Gir6y- 
khan,  and  will  drink  their  millet  beer,”  said  Lukashka, 
angrily  warding  off  the  gnats  that  pestered  him. 

A rustling  in  the  forest  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
Cossacks.  A spotted  mongrel  pointer,  scenting  a trail, 
and  excitedly  wagging  his  hairless  tail,  ran  up  to  the 
cordon.  Lukashka  recognized  the  hunting-dog  of  his 
neighbour,  Uncle  Eroshka,  and  soon  after  he  made  out  in 
the  thicket  the  moving  form  of  the  hunter  himself. 

Uncle  Eroshka  was  a Cossack  of  enormous  stature,*  with 
a broad,  snow-white  beard,  and  such  broad  shoulders  and 
chest  that  in  the  forest,  where  there  was  nobody  with 
whom  he  could  be  compared,  he  appeared,  on  account  of 
the  excellent  proportion  of  all  his  strong  limbs,  rather 
undersized.  He  wore  a ragged,  tucked-up  coat,  buckskin 
shoes  tied  with  twine  to  his  rag  socks,  and  a rumpled 
white  cap.  On  his  back  he  carried,  over  one  shoulder,  a 
snare  for  pheasants,  and  a bag  with  a chicken  and  a falcon 
for  alluring  hawks ; over  the  other  shoulder  he  carried  a 
dead  wildcat  attached  to  a leather  strap ; he  also  carried 
on  his  back,  stuck  behind  his  belt,  a pouch  with  bullets, 
powder,  and  bread,  a horsetail  with  which  to  switch  off 
the  gnats,  a large  dagger  in  a torn,  blood-stained  sheath, 
and  a brace  of  dead  pheasants.  When  he  saw  the  cordon 
he  stopped. 

“ 0 Lyam ! ” he  shouted  to  his  dog  in  such  a sonorous 
bass  that  the  echo  was  repeated  far  in  the  woods ; he 
shifted  on  his  shoulder  the  huge  percussion-gun,  which 
the  Cossacks  call  “ flinta,”  and  raised  his  cap. 


116 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ A good  day  to  you,  good  people ! Oh,  there ! ” he 
turned  to  the  Cossacks,  in  the  same  powerful  and  joyful 
voice ; he  spoke  without  effort,  and  yet  as  loud  as  if  he 
were  talking  to  some  one  across  the  river. 

“ A good  day  to  you,  uncle ! ” merrily  sounded  the 
youthful  voices  of  the  Cossacks,  from  all  sides. 

“Well,  have  you  seen  anything?  Do  tell  me!”  cried 
Uncle  Eroshka,  wiping  the  sweat  from  his  broad,  red  face 
with  the  sleeve  of  his  mantle. 

“ Listen,  uncle  ? There  is  some  hawk  living  here  in 
the  plane-tree ! Every  evening  he  goes  circling  in  the 
air,”  said  Nazarka,  blinking  with  his  eye,  and  twitching 
his  shoulder  and  leg. 

“You  don’t  say?”  the  old  man  said,  incredulously. 

“ Truly,  uncle,  you  watch  awhile,”  insisted  Nazarka, 
laughing. 

The  Cossacks  all  laughed. 

The  jester  had  not  seen  any  hawk;  but  it  had  long 
become  a habit  with  the  young  Cossacks  of  the  cordon  to 
tease  and  deceive  Uncle  Eroshka  every  time  he  came  near 
them.  • 

“ Oh,  you  fool,  talking  rubbish  ! ” said  Lukaslika  from 
the  watch-tower  to  Nazarka. 

Nazarka  at  once  grew  silent. 

“ I must  watch,  and  I will,”  said  the  old  man,  to  the 
great  amusement  of  the  Cossacks.  “ Have  you  seen  any 
boars  ? ” 

“The  idea!  Watching  boars!”  said  the  under-officer, 
glad  to  have  an  opportunity  to  divert  himself,  rolling 
over,  and  scratching  his  long  back  with  both  his  hands. 
“We  have  to  catch  abreks  here,  and  not  boars.  Uncle, 
haven’t  you  heard  anything,  eh  ? ” he  added,  blinking 
without  cause,  and  opening  his  even  row  of  white  teeth. 

“Abreks?”  said  the  old  man.  “No,  I have  not. 
Well,  have  you  any  red  wine  ? Let  me  have  a drink, 
good  man ! I am  tired,  really,  I am.  Just  give  me  a 


THE  COSSACKS 


117 


chance,  and  I will  bring  you  some  venison,  really,  I will. 
Now,  let  me  have  it,”  he  added. 

“Are  you  going  to  watch  all  night?”  the  under-officer 
asked,  as  if  not  hearing  what  he  had  said. 

“ I want  to  stay  up  a night,”  said  Uncle  Eroshka. 
“ Maybe  God  will  grant  me  to  kill  something  by  the 
holidays,  and  then  I will  give  you  some,  really,  I will ! ” 

“ Uncle  ! Ho,  there,  uncle  ! ” shouted  Lukashka  from 
above,  so  loudly  that  all  the  Cossacks  looked  up  to  him. 
“ You  go  up  to  the  upper  arm  of  the  river,  there  is  a fine 
herd  there.  I am  not  lying.  Bang ! The  other  day  one 
of  us  Cossacks  killed  one  there.  I am  telling  the  truth,” 
he  added,  adjusting  the  musket  on  his  back,  in  a voice 
which  left  no  doubt  that  he  was  not  jesting. 

“ Oh,  Lukashka  the  ‘ Saver  ’ is  here ! ” said  the  old 
man,  looking  up.  “ Where  did  he  shoot  ? ” 

“ You  did  not  see  me  ! I must  be  very  small ! ” said 
Lukashka.  “ Near  the  very  ditch,  uncle,”  he  added, 
earnestly,  shaking  his  head.  “We  were  walking  along 
the  ditch,  when  there  was  a crackling  noise,  but  jny  gun 
was  in  its  case.  Ilya  banged  away.  Uncle,  I will  show 
you  the  place ; it  is  not  far  from  here.  Just  give  me  a 
chance.  I know  all  the  paths.  Uncle  Mosev ! ” he 
added  to  the  under-officer,  with  determination  and  almost 
commandingly.  “ It  is  time  to  relieve  the  guard  ! ” and, 
picking  up  his  gun,  he  began  to  come  down  from  the 
tower,  without  waiting  for  the  order. 

“ Come  down ! ” said  the  under-officer,  after  awhile, 
looking  around  him.  “ It  is  your  watch,  isn’t  it,  Gurka  ? 
Go ! Your  Lukashka  is  getting  to  be  clever,”  added  the 
under-officer,  turning  to  the  old  man.  “ He  goes  a-hunt- 
ing  like  you,  and  can’t  stay  at  home;  the  other  day  he 
killed  one ! ” 


VII. 


The  sun  had  disappeared,  and  the  shadows  of  the 
night  rapidly  advanced  from  the  forest.  The  Cossacks 
had  finished  their  occupations  at  the  cordon,  and  were 
getting  ready  to  go  to  the  hut  for  supper.  Only  the  old 
man,  in  expectation  of  the  hawk,  remained  under  the 
plane-tree,  pulling  at  the  cord  by  which  the  falcon  was 
tied.  The  hawk  sat  on  a tree,  but  did  not  descend  upon 
the  chicken. 

Lukashka  leisurely  placed  in  the  pheasant  track,  in  the 
blackthorn  grove,  nooses  with  which  to  catch  the  pheas- 
ants, and  sang  one  song  after  another.  In  spite  of  his 
tall  stature  and  big  hands,  every  kind  of  work,  large  and 
small,  was,  it  appeared,  equally  successful  in  Lukashka’ s 
hands. 

“ 0 Luka  ! ” he  heard  ISTazarka’s  shrill  voice  from  near  by 
in  the  grove.  “ The  Cossacks  have  gone  to  their  supper.” 

Nazarka  was  making  his  way  through  the  blackthorn, 
with  a pheasant  under  his  arm,  and  finally  crawled  out  on 
the  foot-path. 

“ Oh  ! ” said  Lukashka,  growing  silent  for  a moment. 
“ Where  did  you  get  that  cock  ? It  must  be  my  snare.” 

Nazarka  was  of  the  same  age  as  Lukashka,  and  had 
entered  the  army,  like  him,  in  the  spring. 

He  was  a short,  homely,  lean,  sickly  man,  with  a 
squeaky  voice  that  grated  upon  the  ears.  He  was 
a neighbour  and  friend  of  Lukashka.  Lukashka  was 
sitting  in  Tartar  fashion  on  the  grass,  and  fixing  the 
nooses. 


118 


THE  COSSACKS 


119 


“ I do  not  know  whose,  but  very  likely  yours.” 

“ Was  it  beyond  the  hole  near  the  plane-tree  ? That  is 
mine,  I placed  it  there  yesterday  .” 

Lukashka  got  up,  and  looked  at  the  pheasant.  He 
patted  his  dark  blue  head,  which  the  cock  stretched  for- 
ward in  fright,  rolling  his  eyes,  and  took  him  into  his 
hands. 

“ We  shall  prepare  a pilau  to-day.  Go  and  kill  him, 
and  pick  his  feathers  ! ” 

“ Shall  we  eat  it  alone,  or  shall  we  give  it  to  the  under- 
officer ? ” 

“ He  has  had  enough.” 

“ I am  afraid  to  kill  them,”  said  Nazarka. 

“ Let  me  have  him ! ” 

Lukashka  took  out  his  knife  from  beneath  his  dagger, 
and  drew  it  rapidly  across  the  bird’s  neck.  The  bird 
fluttered,  but  before  he  had  time  to  open  his  wings  his 
bloody  head  was  bent  back  and  hung  down. 

“ This  is  the  way  it  is  done,”  said  Lukashka,  throwing 
down  the  cock.  “ It  will  be  a fat  pilau.” 

Nazarka  shuddered,  looking  at  the  bird. 

“ Listen,  Luka,  the  devil  will  send  us  again  into  the 
‘ secret,’  ” he  added,  as  he  raised  the  pheasant,  meaning 
the  under-officer  by  the  word  “ devil.”  “ He  has  sent 
Fomushkin  for  some  red  wine,  it  was  his  turn.  Every 
night  we  go  out,  the  enemy  comes  out  against  us.” 

Lukashka  walked,  whistling,  along  the  cordon. 

“ Pick  up  the  twine ! ” he  shouted. 

Nazarka  obeyed  him. 

“ I will  tell  him  to-day,  really  I will,”  continued  Nazarka. 
“ We  will  say  we  won’t  go,  because  we  are  tired,  and  that 
is  the  end  of  it.  You  tell  him  that ; he  will  listen  to  you. 
What  sense  is  there  in  going  ? ” 

“ Now  this  is  not  worth  talking  about ! ” said  LuMshka, 
evidently  thinking  of  something  else.  “ Nonsense ! It 
would  be  insulting  if  he  drove  us  out  of  the  village  for 


120 


THE  COSSACKS 


the  night.  For  there  you  can  have  a good  time,  but 
here  ? Whether  in  the  cordon,  or  in  the  ‘ secret/  is  one 
and  the  same.  Eeally ! ” 

“ And  will  you  come  down  to  the  village  ? ” 

“ I will,  on  the  holiday 

“ Gurka  said  that  your  Dunayka  is  keeping  company 
with  Fomushkin,”  suddenly  said  Nazarka. 

“ The  devil  take  her ! ” answered  Lukashka,  grinning 
with  his  even  white  teeth,  but  not  laughing.  “ Can’t  I 
find  another  ? ” 

“ Gurka  said  hke  this : he  went  to  see  her,  says  he,  and 
her  husband  was  not  there.  Fomushkin  was  there,  eating 
a pie.  He  stayed  awhile,  and  went  away;  under  the 
window  he  heard  her  say,  ‘The  devil  is  gone;  why, 
darling,  do  you  not  eat  the  pie  ? And/  says  she,  ‘ don’t  go 
home  to  sleep  ! ’ And  he  said  under  the  window,  ‘ That  is 
fine!’” 

“ You  are  lying ! ” 

“ Eeally,  upon  my  word  ! ” 

Lukashka  was  silent. 

“Well,  if  she  has  found  another,  the  deuce  take  her. 
There  are  lots  of  girls.  I am  tired  of  her,  anyway.” 

“ What  a devil  you  are ! ” said  Nazarka.  “ You  had 
better  try  to  get  into  the  graces  of  Maryanka,  the  ensign’s. 
She  is  not  keeping  company  with  anybody  ? ” 

Lukashka  frowned,  “ Maryanka  ! It  is  all  the  same ! ” 
he  said. 

“ Well,  you  tackle  her  — ” 

“ What  do  you  think  ? Are  there  not  enough  of  them 
in  the  village  ? ” 

And  Lukashka  again  whistled,  and  walked  along  the 
cordon,  tearing  off  leaves  and  branches.  As  he  walked 
between  some  bushes,  he  suddenly  noticed  a smooth 
withe;  he  stopped,  took  out  his  knife  from  under  his 
dagger,  and  cut  it  off.  “ It  will  make  a fine  ramrod,” 
he  said,  swishing  the  withe  in  the  air. 


THE  COSSACKS 


121 


The  Cossacks  were  at  their  supper  in  the  clay  vestibule 
of  the  cordon ; they  were  seated  on  the  floor,  around  a 
low  Tartar  table,  and  conversing  about  whose  turn  it 
would  be  to  go  to  the  “ secret.” 

“ Who  goes  to-day  ? ” cried  one  of  the  Cossacks,  turn- 
ing to  the  under-officer  through  the  open  door  of  the 
hut. 

“ Who  will  go  ? ” replied  the  under-officer.  “ Uncle 
Burlak  has  been  there,  Fomushkin  has  been,”  he  said, 
with  some  indecision.  “You  go,  eh?  You  and  Nazarka,” 
he  turned  to  Lukashka,  “ and  Ergushov  will  go,  if  he  has 
had  his  sleep.” 

“You  never  have  your  sleep,  how  should  he?”  said 
Nazarka,  half-loud. 

The  Cossacks  laughed. 

Ergushov  was  the  very  Cossack  who  was  drunk,  and 
had  been  asleep  near  the  hut.  He  had  just  waked  and, 
rubbing  his  eyes,  waddled  into  the  vestibule. 

Lukashka  rose,  and  got  his  gun  in  shape. 

“ Be  quick  about  it ; have  your  supper,  and  go ! ” said 
the  under-officer.  Without  waiting  for  an  expression 
of  consent,  the  under-officer  closed  the  door,  evidently 
having  little  hope  that  the  Cossacks  would  obey  him. 
“ If  I were  not  commanded,  I would  not  send  you ; 
but  the  captain  might  run  into  us,  before  we  know 
it.  And  besides,  they  say  eight  abreks  have  crossed 
over.” 

“Well,  we  must  go,”  said  Ergushov,  “it’s  the  order/ 
You  can't  do  otherwise,  — times  are  such.  I say,  we 
must  go.” 

Lukashka,  in  the  meantime,  held  with  both  hands  a 
big  piece  of  the  pheasant  before  his  mouth,  and,  looking 
now  at  the  under-officer,  and  now  at  Nazarka,  was  appar- 
ently quite  indifferent  to  what  was  going  on  around  him, 
and  laughed  at  both  of  them.  The  Cossacks  had  not  yet 
gone  away  to  the  “secret”  when  Uncle  Erdshka,  who 


122 


THE  COSSACKS 


had  sat  up  until  night  under  the  plane-tree,  without 
accomplishing  anything,  entered  into  the  dark  vestibule. 

"Well,  boys,”  boomed  his  bass,  in  the  low  vestibule, 
“ 1 will  go  with  you,  — you  will  lie  in  ambush  for 
Chechens,  and  I for  boars  ” 


VIII. 


It  was  quite  dark  when  Uncle  Eroshka  and  the  three 
Cossacks  of  the  cordon,  in  felt  mantles,  and  with  their 
guns  over  their  shoulders,  walked  down  the  Terek  to  the 
place  which  had  been  designated  as  the  ambush.  Nazarka 
did  not  want  to  go  at  all ; but  Lukashka  shouted  to  him, 
and  they  got  quickly  ready.  After  having  walked  a few 
steps  in  silence,  the  Cossacks  turned  away  from  the  ditch, 
and  over  an  almost  imperceptible  foot-path  through  the 
reeds  walked  up  to  the  Tdrek.  Near  the  bank  lay  a 
thick  black  log,  cast  out  by  the  river,  and  the  reeds 
around  the  log  looked  freshly  crushed. 

“ Shall  we  ‘ sit  ’ here  ? ” said  Nazarka. 

“Why  not?”  said  Lukashka.  “ Sit  down  here;  I will 
be  back  in  a minute,  as  soon  as  I have  shown  the  place 
to  uncle.” 

“This  is  a very  fine  place.  We  can’t  be  seen,  but  we 
can  see  everything,”  said  Ergushov.  “We  had  better  sit 
here ; it  is  a first-class  place.” 

Nazarka  and  Ergushov  spread  out  their  mantles  behind 
the  log,  and  Lukashka  went  away  a distance  with  Uncle 
Erdshka. 

“ Not  far  from  here,  uncle,”  said  Lukashka,  stepping 
cautiously  in  front  of  the  old  man,  “ I will  show  you 
where  they  passed.  I,  my  friend,  am  the  only  one  who 
knows.” 

“ Show  me ! You  are  a good  fellow,”  answered  the  old 
man,  also  in  a whisper. 


123 


124 


THE  COSSACKS 


Having  taken  a few  steps,  Lukashka  stopped,  bent  over 
a puddle,  and  whistled.  “ Here  they  came  to  drink,  you 
see,”  he  said,  just  audibly,  pointing  to  a fresh  track. 

“ The  Lord  preserve  you,”  answered  the  old  man. 
“ The  boar  must  be  in  the  wallow  beyond  the  ditch,”  he 
added.  “ I will  sit  here,  and  you  go.” 

Lukashka  shifted  his  mantle,  and  went  by  himself 
back  along  the  bank,  casting  rapid  glances,  now  on  the 
left  to  the  wall  of  reeds,  now  on  the  T4rek,  which  foamed 
below  the  bank.  “He  is  himself  watching,  or  creeping 
along  somewhere,”  he  thought  about  the  Chechens. 
Suddenly  a loud  rustling  and  splashing  in  the  water  made 
him  shudder  and  grasp  his  musket.  Upon  the  shore 
leaped,  breathing  heavily,  a boar,  and  the  black  form, 
which  for  a moment  stood  out  from  the  shining  surface 
of  the  water,  disappeared  in  the  reeds.  Luka  quickly 
took  his  gun  and  aimed,  but  before  he  had  a chance  to 
shoot,  the  boar  was  lost  in  the  thicket.  He  spit  out 
in  anger,  and  walked  on.  When  he  came  to  the  place 
of  ambush,  he  again  stopped,  and  whistled  lightly.  He 
received  an  answer,  and  walked  up  to  his  companions. 

Nazarka  was  rolled  up  in  his  mantle,  and  asleep. 
Ergushov  was  sitting  with  his  legs  crossed  under  him ; 
he  moved  a little,  so  as  to  make  place  for  Lukashka. 

“ How  jolly  it  is  to  c sit ? ! Eeally,  it  is  a fine  place,” 
he  said.  “ Have  you  settled  him  ? ” 

“ I have  shown  him  the  place,”  replied  Lukashka, 
spreading  his  mantle.  “ I just  scared  up  a strapping  boar 
near  the  water.  It  must  be  the  same  one.  Did  you 
hear  the  noise  he  made  ? '* 

“ I did  hear  the  noise,  and  I knew  at  once  it  must  be 
an  animal.  I thought  you  had  scared  up  the  beast,”  said 
Ergushov,  wrapping  himself  in  his  mantle.  “ I will  now 
take  a nap”  he  added.  “Wake  me  after  cockcrow; 
because,  that's  the  order.  First  I'll  take  a nap,  and  then 
you,  and  I will  sit  up.  That’s  right.” 


THE  COSSACKS 


125 


a Thank  you,  I do  not  care  to  sleep,”  answered 
Lukashka. 

The  night  was  dark,  warm,  and  calm.  The  stars  were 
shining  only  on  one  side  of  the  horizon  ; the  other,  greater 
part  of  the  sky,  on  the  side  of  the  mountains,  was  shrouded 
by  one  large  cloud.  This  black  cloud,  uniting  with  the 
mountains,  was  not  agitated  by  the  wind,  but  moved 
slowly  farther  and  farther,  its  curving  edges  standing  out 
sharply  in  the  deep,  starry  heaven. 

Only  in  front  cf  him  the  Cossack  could  see  the  T£rek 
and  the  dim  distance ; behind  him  and  on  both  sides  he 
was  surrounded  by  a wall  of  reeds.  From  time  to  time 
the  reeds  began  to  wave  and  rustle  against  each  other, 
without  any  apparent  cause.  Below,  the  waving  cattails 
looked  like  bushy  branches  of  trees  against  the  bright 
edge  of  the  sky.  In  front  of  him,  at  his  very  feet,  was 
the  bank,  below  which  the  river  was  roaring. 

Farther  away  the  gleaming  mass  of  moving  cinnamon- 
coloured  water  monotonously  rippled  near  the  shoals  and 
along  the  bank.  Still  farther,  the  water,  and  bank,  and 
cloud,  all  blended  into  impenetrable  darkness. 

On  the  surface  of  the  water  were  long-drawn  shadows, 
which  the  experienced  eye  of  the  Cossack  recognized  as 
tree-trunks  carried  down  by  the  current.  Now  and  then 
the  sheet-lightning,  reflecting  in  the  water,  as  in  a dark 
mirror,  indicated  the  line  of  the  opposite  declivitous 
bank. 

The  even  sounds  of  the  night,  the  rustling  of  the  reeds, 
the  snoring  of  the  Cossacks,  the  buzzing  of  the  gnats,  and 
the  roaring  of  the  water  were  occasionally  interrupted  by 
a distant  shot,  the  plunge  of  the  bank  caving  in,  the 
splashing  of  a big  fish,  and  the  crashing  of  an  animal 
through  the  wild,  overgrown  forest. 

Once  an  owl  flew  down  the  T4rek,  flapping  its  wings 
together  exactly  after  every  two  strokes.  Bight  over  the 
Cossacks’  heads  it  turned  toward  the  forest,  this  time 


126 


THE  COSSACKS 


flapping  its  wings  after  every  stroke,  and  not  alternately, 
and  then  fluttered  about  for  a long  time  before  alighting 
on  an  old  plane-tree.  At  every  such  unexpected  sound, 
the  waking  Cossack  strained  his  ears,  blinked,  and  lei- 
surely fingered  his  musket. 

The  greater  part  of  the  night  had  passed.  The  black 
cloud,  moving  to  the  west,  disclosed  behind  its  ragged 
edges  the  clear,  starry  heaven,  and  the  tipping  golden  horn 
of  the  moon  gleamed  red  above  the  mountains.  It  was 
getting  chilly. 

Nazarka  awoke,  said  something,  and  again  fell  asleep. 
Lukaslika,  being  tired,  got  up,  took  his  knife  from  behind 
his  dagger,  and  began  to  whittle  the  stick  into  a ramrod. 
He  was  thinking  how  the  Chechens  were  living  there  in 
the  mountains  ; how  their  braves  crossed  on  this  side ; 
how  they  were  not  afraid  of  the  Cossacks ; and  how  they 
might  cross  in  another  place.  And  he  craned  his  neck, 
and  looked  down  the  river,  but  he  could  see  nothing. 
Glancing  now  and  then  at  the  river  and  at  the  distant 
shore  which  was  feebly  differentiated  from  the  water  in 
the  pale  light  of  the  moon,  he  stopped  thinking  of  the 
Chechens,  and  only  waited  for  the  time  to  wake  his  com- 
panions, and  go  back  to  the  village.  In  the  village  he 
thought  of  Dunka,  his  little  soul,  as  the  Cossacks  call  their 
sweethearts,  and  he  was  angry. 

There  were  signs  of  the  morning.  A silvery  mist 
gleamed  over  the  water,  and  some  young  eagles  uttered  a 
shrill  whistle  near  him,  and  flapped  their  wings.  Finally, 
the  crowing  of  the  first  cock  was  borne  afar  from  the 
village,  then  another  protracted  cockcrow,  to  which  other 
voices  answered. 

“ It  is  time  to  wake  them,”  thought  Lukashka,  having 
finished  his  ramrod,  and  feeling  that  his  eyelids  were  get- 
ting heavy.  He  turned  to  his  companions,  and  tried  to 
make  out  to  whom  each  pair  of  legs  belonged.  But  sud- 
denly it  appeared  to  him  that  something  splashed  on 


THE  COSSACKS 


127 


the  other  side  of  the  Terek,  and  he  once  more  gazed  at  the 
dawning  horizon  of  the  mountains,  under  the  tipping 
sickle  of  the  moon,  at  the  line  of  the  opposite  shore,  at 
the  Terek,  and  at  the  trunks  which  were  distinctly  visi- 
ble in  the  current.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  in 
motion,  and  that  the  T£rek  with  the  tree-trunks  was 
stationary ; but  that  lasted  only  a minute.  He  looked 
down  once  more. 

One  large  black  trunk  with  a bough  more  especially 
attracted  his  attention.  It  was  moving  strangely  in  the 
middle  of  the  stream,  without  rolling  or  twisting.  He 
even  thought  that  it  did  not  follow  the  current,  but  made 
across  the  river  toward  a shoal.  Lukashka  craned  his 
neck,  and  began  to  watch  it  with  fixed  attention.  The 
trunk  reached  the  shoal,  where  it  stopped  ; there  was 
something  moving  there.  Lukashka  was  sure  he  had 
seen  a hand  rise  from  underneath  the  log. 

“ I will  kill  an  abr4k  all  by  myself ! ” he  thought, 
seized  his  gun  without  undue  haste,  but  swiftly  planted 
his  forked  support,  placed  his  gun  over  it,  softly  raised  the 
hammer,  holding  it  with  his  fingers,  and,  holding  his 
breath,  kept  a sharp  lookout,  and  began  to  aim. 

“ I will  not  wake  them,”  he  thought.  Still,  his  heart 
began  to  beat  so  powerfully  in  his  breast,  that  he  stopped 
to  listen.  The  log  suddenly  splashed,  and  again  made 
straight  for  our  shore. 

“ It  would  be  dreadful  if  I let  him  through ! ” he 
thought,  and  suddenly,  in  the  feeble  moonlight,  a Tartar 
head  flashed  in  front  of  the  log.  He  aimed  straight  at 
that  head.  It  seemed  to  him  to  be  very  near,  at  the  end 
of  his  barrel.  He  looked  across. 

“That  is  it,  an  abr4k,”  he  thought  joyfully,  and  sud- 
denly getting  up  on  his  knees,  he  again  adjusted  the  gun, 
looked  for  the  sight,  which  was  barely  visible  at  the  end 
of  the  long  barrel,  and,  according  to  a Cossack  custom, 
acquired  in  childhood,  pronounced  “ To  the  Father  and 


128 


THE  COSSACKS 


the  Son/’  and  pulled  the  trigger.  The  flash  for  a moment 
lighted  up  the  reeds  and  the  water.  The  sharp,  crack- 
ling sound  of  the  discharge  rang  out  over  the  river,  and 
passed  into  a distant  rumble.  The  log  no  longer  swam 
across  the  river,  but  down  the  current,  rolling  and 
quivering. 

“ Hold  him,  I say ! ” cried  Ergushov,  fingering  his 
musket,  and  raising  himself  behind  the  log. 

“ Keep  quiet,  devil ! ” Lukashka  whispered  to  him  with 
clinched  teeth.  “ Abreks  ! ” 

“ Whom  did  you  shoot  ? ” asked  Nazarka.  “ Whom  did 
you  shoot,  Lukashka  ? ” 

Lukashka  did  not  answer.  He  loaded  his  gun,  and 
watched  the  log  that  was  carried  down  the  stream.  It 
stopped  on  a shoal,  not  far  off,  and  something  large,  mov- 
ing on  the  water,  appeared  from  behind  it. 

“What  did  you  shoot?  Why  don’t  you  tell?”  re- 
peated the  Cossacks. 

“ Abreks,  I told  you,”  repeated  Lukashka. 

“ Stop  guying  us ! The  gun,  I guess,  went  off  by 
itself ! ” 

" I have  killed  an  abr6k ! That’s  what  I have  killed  ! ” 
said  Lukashka,  in  a voice  trembling  with  excitement, 
leaping  to  his  feet.  “A  man  was  swimming  — ” he 
said,  pointing  to  the  shoal.  “ I have  killed  him.  Look 
there ! ” 

“ Stop  telling  lies  ! ” said  Ergushov,  rubbing  his  eyes. 

“ What  lies  ? Look  there  ! Look,”  said  Lukashka,  grab- 
bing him  by  the  shoulders  and  bending  him  downward 
toward  him  with  such  force  that  Ergushov  groaned. 

Ergushov  looked  in  the  direction  pointed  out  by  Lu- 
kashka, and,  noticing  a human  form  there,  at  once  changed 
his  tone. 

“ I declare ! I tell  you,  there  will  be  others.  I tell 
you  for  sure,”  he  said,  quietly,  and  began  to  examine  his 
musket.  “ That  was  the  leader  who  was  making  across ; 


THE  COSSACKS 


129 


they  are  already  here,  or  not  far  away,  on  the  other 
shore ; I am  telling  you  for  sure.” 

Lukashka  ungirded  himself,  and  began  to  take  off  his 
mantle. 

“ Whither  do  you  want  to  go,  fool  ? ” cried  Ergushov. 
“ You  just  move,  and  it  will  be  up  with  you,  I am  telling 
you  for  sure.  If  you  have  killed  him  he  will  not  get 
away.  Let  me  have  some  powder.  Have  you  any  ? 
Nazar!  You  go  at  once  to  the  cordon,  but  don’t  go 
along  the  bank;  they’ll  kill  you,  I am  telling  you  for 
sure.” 

“ You  will  see  me  go  alone  ! Go  yourself ! ” Nazarka 
said,  angrily. 

Lukashka  took  off  his  mantle,  and  walked  up  to  the 
banko 

“ Don’t  expose  yourself,  I tell  you,”  said  Ergushov, 
pouring  powder  on  the  pan  of  his  gun.  “ I see  he  is  not 
moving  now.  It  is  not  far  to  morning,  and  by  that  time 
they’ll  come  up  from  the  cordon.  Go  on,  Nazarka ! Oh, 
you  are  afraid ! Don’t  be  afraid,  I say.” 

“ Lukashka,  Lukashka,”  said  Nazarka,  “tell  us  how  you 
killed  him.” 

Lukashka  changed  his  mind  about  going  immediately 
into  the  water. 

“ Go  to  the  cordon  at  once,  and  I will  stay  here.  Tell 
the  Cossacks  to  scatter.  If  they  are  on  this  side,  we 
ought  to  catch  them.” 

“ I say  they  will  get  away,”  said  Ergushov,  rising. 
“We  ought  to  catch  them,  that’s  so.” 

And  Ergushov  and  Nazarka  got  up,  and,  crossing  them- 
selves, went  to  the  cordon,  not  along  the  bank,  but  mak- 
ing their  way  through  the  buckthorns  and  getting  out  on 
the  forest  path. 

“ Look  out,  Lukashka,  don’t  stir  ! ” said  Ergushdv,  “ or 
they’ll  cut  your  throat  here.  Be  on  the  lookout,  I tell 
you.” 


130 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ Go  on,  I know,”  said  Lukashka,  and,  examining  his 
gun,  he  took  up  his  seat  behind  the  log. 

Lukashka  sat  all  alone,  watching  the  shoal,  and  listen- 
ing for  the  Cossacks ; but  it  was  quite  a distance  to  the 
cordon,  and  impatience  tormented  him ; he  was  dread- 
fully afraid  that  the  abreks  who  came  with  the  man  he 
had  killed  would  get  away.  He  was  just  as  much  in  dread 
that  the  abreks  would  get  away,  as  he  had  been  mortified 
the  night  before  at  the  escape  of  the  boar.  He  gazed  all 
around  him,  and  at  the  opposite  bank,  expecting  to  see  a 
man  any  time ; he  planted  his  forked  support,  and  was 
ready  to  shoot.  It  did  not  even  occur  to  him  that  he 
might  be  killed. 


IX. 


Day  was  dawning.  The  whole  form  of  the  Chechen 
which  had  been  carried  to  the  shoal,  and  was  barely 
moving  there,  was  now  distinctly  visible.  Suddenly  the 
reeds  crashed  near  the  Cossack,  steps  were  heard,  and  the 
cattails  came  into  motion.  The  Cossack  cocked  his  gun, 
and  said,  “ To  the  Father  and  the  Son.”  As  soon  as  the 
hammer  clicked,  the  steps  were  silenced. 

“ 0 Cossacks ! Don’t  kill  uncle,”  was  heard  the  quiet 
bass,  and,  pushing  aside  the  reeds,  Uncle  Erdshka  stood 
right  before  him. 

“ I came  very  near  killing  you,  upon  my  word ! ” said 
Lukashka. 

“What  have  you  shot?”  asked  the  old  man. 

The  melodious  voice  of  the  old  man,  ringing  through 
the  forest  and  down  the  river,  suddenly  broke  the  still- 
ness and  mystery  of  the  night,  which  had  surrounded  the 
Cossack.  It  seemed  as  though  it  had  suddenly  become 
lighter  and  brighter. 

“Now,  you  have  seen  nothing,  uncle,  but  I have  killed 
a beast,”  said  Lukashka,  uncocking  his  gun,  and  rising  in 
feigned  composure. 

The  old  man  did  not  take  his  eyes  off  the  clearly  dis- 
cernible white  back,  around  which  the  T£rek  rippled. 

“ He  had  been  swimming  with  the  log  on  his  back.  I 
watched  for  him.  Just  look  there ! There ! He  is  in 
blue  trousers,  and  I think  there  is  a gun  — You  see, 
don’t  you  ? ” said  Lukashka. 

“ Of  course  I see  ! ” said  the  old  man,  angrily,  and  there 
131 


132 


THE  COSSACKS 


was  a solemn  and  austere  expression  in  his  face.  “ You 
have  killed  a brave”  he  said,  as  though  with  regret. 

“ I was  sitting,  and  suddenly  I saw  something  black  on 
the  other  side.  I had  almost  made  him  out  there : it 
looked  as  though  a man  had  walked  up  and  dropped  into 
the  river.  What  was  it  ? A log,  a big  log  was  swimming, 
not  down  the  current,  but  straight  across.  I looked,  and 
there  a head  peeped  out  from  underneath  it.  What  is 
that  ? I aimed,  but  I could  not  see  behind  the  reeds. 
He  stood  up,  the  beast,  having  heard  me,  no  doubt,  and 
crawled  out  on  a shoal,  and  looked  about  him.  ‘ You 
are  mistaken/  thought  I,  ‘ you  will  not  get  away."  He 
crept  up,  and  looked  around.  (I  felt  like  choking !)  I ' 
fixed  the  gun,  did  not  stir,  and  waited.  He  stood  awhile, 
and  again  started  swimming;  and  when  he  swam  out  in 
the  moon,  his  back  could  be  seen.  ‘To  the  Father  and 
the  Son  and  the  Holy  Ghost ! * I looked,  after  the  smoke 
had  cleared  away,  and  saw  that  he  was  struggling.  He 
groaned,  or  I thought  he  did.  ‘ Well,  thank  the  Lord/  I 
thought,  ‘ I have  killed  him ! ’ And  when  he  was  carried 
on  the  shoal,  and  he  got  out,  and  wanted  to  get  up,  he 
saw  that  he  had  no  strength.  He  floundered  and  floun- 
dered, and  lay  down.  It  is  clear  now,  and  one  can  see 
everything.  He  does  not  stir;  no  doubt  he  is  dead. 
The  Cossacks  have  gone  to  the  cordon,  to  keep  the  others 
from  escaping!” 

“ So  you  have  caught  him  ! ” said  the  old  man.  “ It  is 
far  now,  my  friend  — ” And  he  again  shook  his  head 
gloomily.  At  that  moment  Cossacks  on  foot  and  on 
horseback  could  be  heard  along  the  bank,  conversing 
loudly  and  crashing  through  the  branches. 

“ You  are  a fine  fellow,  Lukashka ! Pull  him  to  the 
shore,”  shouted  one  of  the  Cossacks. 

Lukashka  did  not  wait  for  the  skiff,  but  began  to 
undress  himself,  keeping  all  the  time  a close  watch  on 
his  prey. 


THE  COSSACKS 


133 


"Wait,  Nazarka  is  bringing  up  a skiff/  cried  the  under- 
officer. 

“ Fool ! He  may  be  alive  ! He  is  feigning ! Take  along 
a dagger,”  cried  another  Cossack. 

"Nonsense!”  cried  Lukashka,  taking  off  his  trousers. 
He  undressed  himself  in  a trice,  crossed  himself,  and, 
leaping  up,  jumped  into  the  water  with  a splash ; he  took 
a plunge,  reached  out  far  with  his  white  arms,  and  raising 
his  back  high  out  of  the  water,  and  struggling  against  the 
current,  made  across  the  T4rek,  toward  the  shoal.  A 
crowd  of  Cossacks  were  talking  loudly  on  the  shore,  a 
few  voices  at  a time.  Three  horsemen  rode  far  around. 
The  skiff  appeared  around  a bend.  Lukashka  rose  on 
the  shoal,  bent  over  the  body,  and  rolled  it  around  once 
or  twice.  " He  is  certainly  dead  ! ” rang  out  Lukashka’s 
voice  from  there. 

The  Chechen  had  been  shot  through  his  head.  He 
wore  blue  trousers,  a shirt,  and  a mantle ; and  a gun  and 
a dagger  were  tied  to  his  back.  Above  it  all  was  fastened 
a large  bough  which  had  at  first  mystified  Lukashka. 

" That’s  the  way  the  carp  was  caught ! ” said  one  of  the 
Cossacks,  who  were  standing  around,  when  the  body  of 
the  Chechen  was  dragged  out  of  the  skiff,  and  lay  on  the 
bank,  crushing  the  grass. 

" How  yellow  he  is ! ” said  another. 

" Where  have  ours  gone  to  find  them  ? They  must  all 
be  on  the  other  side.  If  he  were  not  the  leader,  he  would 
not  have  swum  in  this  fashion.  What  sense  would  there 
be  in  swimming  all  alone  ? ” said  a third. 

" I say  he  must  have  been  a clever  fellow,  to  have  gone 
ahead  of  the  rest.  A first-class  brave ! ” Lukashka  re- 
marked, sarcastically,  squeezing  out  his  wet  clothes  on 
the  shore,  and  shuddering  all  the  time.  " His  beard  is 
painted  and  cropped.” 

" And  he  had  fixed  his  coat  in  a bag  on  his  back.  This 
made  it  easier  for  him  to  swim,”  some  one  remarked. 


134 


THE  COSSACKS 


“Listen,  Lukashka,”  said  the  under-officer,  who  was 
holding  the  gun  and  dagger  that  had  been  taken  from  the 
dead  man.  “ You  take  the  dagger  and  the  coat ; and  for 
the  gun  come  and  get  three  roubles.  You  see  it  has  a 
rift/>  he  added,  blowing  down  the  barrel,  “ but  I should 
like  to  have  it  as  a memento.” 

Lukashka  did  not  reply ; he  was  evidently  annoyed  at 
this  begging,  but  he  knew  that  there  was  no  escaping  it. 

“ Well,  the  devil ! ” he  said,  frowning,  and  throwing  the 
coat  down  on  the  ground.  “ If  it  were  a decent  coat,  but 
it  is  only  a gabardine.” 

“ It  will  do  to  haul  wood  in,”  said  another  Cossack. 

“ Mosev ! I will  go  home,”  said  Lukashka,  evidently 
forgetting  his  annoyance,  and  trying  to  make  good  use  of 
his  present  to  his  superior. 

“ Go,  why  not  ? ” 

“ Take  him  down  to  the  cordon,  boys,”  the  under-officer 
said,  turning  to  the  Cossacks,  all  the  time  examining  the 
gun.  “ And  we  must  make  a tent  over  his  body.  They 
may  come  down  from  the  mountains  to  ransom  it.” 

“ It  is  not  too  hot  yet,”  some  one  said. 

“Won’t  the  jackals  tear  him  up?  Would  that  be 
well  ? ” one  of  the  Cossacks  remarked. 

“ We  will  place  a sentinel  near  by.  They  will  come  to 
ransom  the  .body,  and  it  would  not  do  to  have  it  all 
jorn.” 

“ Well,  Lukashka,  you  may  say  what  you  please,  but 
you  will  have  to  treat  the  boys  to  a bucketful,”  the  under- 
officer added,  merrily. 

“ That  is  the  custom,”  the  Cossacks  chimed  in.  “Just 
see  the  luck  God  has  given  him ! He  has  not  seen  any- 
thing yet,  but  has  already  killed  an  abr4k.” 

“ Buy  the  dagger  and  the  coat  of  me  ! I want  all  the 
money  I can  get.  I will  sell  the  trousers,  too.  God  be 
with  you,”  said  Lukashka.  “ They  won’t  fit  me.  — he  was 
a lean  devil.” 


THE  COSSACKS 


135 


One  Cossack  bought  the  coat  for  a rouble.  Another 
gave  two  bucketfuls  for  the  dagger. 

“You  will  have  a drink,  boys,  for  I will  set  up  a 
bucket,”  said  Lukashka.  “ I’ll  fetch  it  myself  from  the 
village.” 

“ And  cut  up  the  trousers  for  kerchiefs  for  the  girls,” 
said  Nazarka. 

The  Cossacks  roared. 

“ Stop  your  laughing  ! ” said  the  under-officer.  “ Drag 
off  the  body ! Who  wants  to  keep  such  a thing  near  the 
hut  — ” 

“ Why  are  you  standing  around  ? Drag  him  over  here, 
boys ! ” Lukashka  shouted  in  a voice  of  command  to  the 
Cossacks,  who  did  not  like  to  touch  the  body,  but  carried 
out  his  orders  as  though  he  were  their  superior.  After 
dragging  the  body  away  for  a few  steps,  the  Cossacks 
dropped  its  legs,  which  hung  down  lifeless  ; they  stepped 
aside,  and  stood  for  a moment  in  silence.  Nazarka  walked 
up  to  the  body,  and  straightened  out  the  head,  which  had 
bent  under,  so  that  the  round  blood-stained  wound  above 
the  temple  and  the  face  of  the  dead  man  could  be  seen. 

“ You  see  what  a mark  he  has  made  there ! Hit  him 
right  in  his  brain  ! ” he  said.  “ He  will  not  be  lost.  His 
people  will  identify  him.” 

No  one  said  a word,  and  again  the  angel  of  silence 
passed  over  the  Cossacks. 

The  sun  had  risen,  and  with  its  broken  beams  lighted 
up  the  dewy  foliage.  The  T4rek  roared  not  far  off,  in  the 
awakening  forest.  The  pheasants  called  to  each  other  on 
all  sides,  greeting  the  morning.  The  Cossacks  stood,  silent 
and  motionless,  around  the  dead  man,  and  gazed  at  him. 
His  cinnamon-coloured  body,  in  nothing  but  blue  trousers, 
turned  darker  from  having  been  soaked  in  the  water,  and 
held  together  by  a belt  over  his  hollow  belly,  was  slender 
and  beautiful.  His  muscular  arms  lay  straight,  down  his 
ribs.  His  livid,  freshly  shaven  round  head,  with  the 


136 


THE  COSSACKS 


clotted  wound  at  one  side,  was  bent  back.  The  smooth, 
sunburnt  forehead  stood  out  sharply  from  his  shaven  head. 
The-  glassy,  open  eyes,  with  their  pupils  standing  low, 
looked  upwards,  apparently  beyond  everything.  On  his 
thin  lips,  with  their  drawn  edges,  which  could  be  seen 
behind  his  clipped  red  moustache,  there  seemed  to  hover 
a good-natured,  delicate  smile.  The  small  finger  joints 
were  covered  with  red  hairs;  the  fingers  were  bent  in- 
wardly, and  the  nails  were  dyed  red. 

Lukashka  was  not  yet  dressed.  He  was  wet ; his  neck 
was  redder,  and  his  eyes  were  sparkling  more  than  usual ; 
his  broad  cheek-bones  quivered ; from  his  white,  healthy 
body  a barely  perceptible  evaporation  rose  into  the  fresh 
morning  air. 

“ He  was  a man,  too ! ” he  said,  apparently  admiring 
the  dead  body. 

“ Yes,  if  he  had  gotten  you,  he  would  not  have  let  you 
off,”  said  one  of  the  Cossacks. 

The  angel  of  silence  flew  away.  The  Cossacks  began 
to  stir,  and  to  chat.  Two  went  to  cut  some  brush  for  the 
tent.  Others  leisurely  walked  back  to  the  cordon.  Lu- 
kashka and  Nazarka  hastened  to  get  ready  for  the  village. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Lukashka  and  Nazarka,  almost  on  a 
run,  were  making  their  way  home,  through  the  dense 
forest  which  separated  the  Terek  from  their  village ; they 
did  not  cease  talking. 

“ Don't  tell  her,  remember,  that  I have  sent  you.  You 
just  go  and  see  whether  her  husband  is  at  home,”  said 
Lukashka,  in  a shrill  voice. 

“And  I will  go  and  see  Yamka.  We  will  have  a good 
time,  won’t  we  ? ” asked  submissive  Nazarka. 

“ When  are  we  to  have  a good  time,  if  not  to-day  ? ” 
answered  Lukasha. 

Upon  arriving  at  the  village  the  Cossacks  drank  them- 
selves drunk,  and  went  to  sleep  until  the  evening. 


X. 


Two  days  after  this  occurrence,  two  companies  of  infan- 
try of  the  Army  of  the  Caucasus  came  to  take  up  quarters 
in  the  village  of  Novomlin.  The  company  wagons  already 
stood  unhitched  in  the  square.  The  cooks  had  dug  a 
hole  and  brought  together  from  the  different  yards  any 
chips  that  were  not  securely  put  away,  and  were  cooking 
soup.  The  corporals  were  calling  the  roll.  The  soldiers 
of  the  convoy  were  driving  down  stakes  to  tie  their  horses 
to.  The  quartermaster-sergeants,  who  were  at  home  here, 
rushed  through  the  streets  and  lanes,  assigning  quarters 
to  the  officers  and  soldiers. 

Here  were  green  caissons  drawn  up  in  battle  array. 
Here  were  the  company's  carts  and  their  horses.  Here 
were  the  kettles  in  which  the  buckwheat  porridge  was 
cooked.  Here  was  the  captain,  and  the  lieutenant,  and 
Onisim  Mikhaylovich,  the  sergeant. 

And  all  this  found  itself  in  the  very  village  where,  so 
they  said,  the  companies  were  ordered  to  be  stationed  ; 
consequently  the  companies  were  at  home.  Why  are 
they  stationed  here  ? Who  are  these  Cossacks  ? Do  they 
like  to  have  soldiers  stationed  in  their  village  ? Are 
they  dissenters  or  not  ? That  is  nobody's  business. 

Being  dismissed  after  roll-call,  the  tired  and  dusty  sol- 
diers, noisily  and  in  disorder,  like  a settling  swarm  of  bees, 
scattered  over  the  squares  and  streets.  Paying  not  the 
least  attention  to  the  unfriendly  attitude  of  the  Cossacks, 
they  entered  the  huts,  in  groups  of  two  and  three,  chat- 
tering merrily  and  clattering  with  their  guns ; they  hung 

137 


138 


THE  COSSACKS 


up  their  accoutrements,  opened  their  bags,  and  joked  with 
the  women. 

A large  group  of  soldiers,  with  pipes  between  their 
teeth,  gathered  in  their  favourite  place,  near  the  gruel- 
kettles.  They  now  watched  the  smoke  which  rose  imper- 
ceptibly to  the  burniug  sky,  and  high  up  in  the  air 
condensed  into  a white  cloud,  or  the  camp-fire  which 
trembled  in  the  clear  air  like  melted  glass ; they  bantered 
and  ridiculed  the  Cossack  men  and  women  for  living 
differently  from  the  Eussians. 

In  all  the  yards  soldiers  could  be  seen ; one  could  hear 
their  laughter,  and  the  furious,  shrill  voices  of  the  Cos- 
sack women,  defending  their  houses,  and  refusing  water 
and  utensils.  Little  boys  and  girls  pressed  close  to  their 
mothers  and  to  each  other,  following,  with  an  expression 
of  amazement,  all  the  unfamiliar  movements  of  the  sol- 
diers, or  they  ran  after  them  at  a respectful  distance. 
The  old  Cossacks  came  out  of  their  cabins,  sat  down  on 
the  mounds,  and  gloomily  and  in  silence  watched  the 
bustle  of  the  soldiers,  as  though  giving  everything  up  in 
despair,  and  not  understanding  what  would  come  of 
it  all. 

Olenin,  who  had  been  enrolled  in  the  Army  of  the 
Caucasus  for  the  last  three  months,  was  assigned  quarters 
with  the  Ensign  Ilya  Vasilevich,  that  is,  with  Mother 
Ulitka,  in  one  of  the  best  cabins  in  the  village. 

“ What  will  this  be,  Dmitri  Andreevich?”  said  Van- 
yusha, out  of  breath,  to  Olenin,  who,  dressed  in  a mantle, 
after  a five-hour  ride,  merrily  cantered  on  his  Kabarda 
horse,  which  he  had  purchased  at  Groznaya,  into  the  yard 
of  the  assigned  quarters. 

“Why  so,  Ivan  Vasilevich?”  he  asked,  patting  his 
horse,  and  cheerfully  looking  at  perspiring  Vanyusha, 
who,  with  his  dishevelled  hair  and  dejected  face,  had 
arrived  with  the  baggage,  and  was  now  sorting  out  things. 

Olenin  appeared  now  an  entirely  different  man.  In- 


THE  COSSACKS 


139 


stead  of  his  shaven  face,  he  now  wore  a young  beard 
and  moustache.  Instead  of  his  drawn  face,  sallow  from 
nightly  dissipations,  there  was  a healthy  ruddy  tan  on  his 
cheeks  and  forehead  and  behind  his  ears.  Instead  of  a 
clean  new  black  dress  coat,  he  wore  a dirty  white  mantle 
with  wide  folds,  and  weapons.  Instead  of  clean  starched 
collars,  the  red  collar  of  a half-coat  of  Persian  silk  fitted 
tightly  around  his  sunburnt  neck.  He  was  clad  in  Cir- 
cassian fashion,  but  not  correctly  so ; anybody  could  have 
told  that  he  was  a Russian,  and  not  a Chechen  brave. 
Everything  was  correct,  and  yet  wrong ! But  his  whole 
figure  breathed  health,  cheerfulness,  and  self-satisfaction. 

“ It  is  all  funny  to  you/’  said  Vanyusha,  “ but  just  try 
and  talk  with  these  people : they  won’t  let  you  alone,  and 
that  is  all.  You  can’t  get  a word  out  of  them.”  Van- 
yusha angrily  threw  down  an  iron  pail  at  the  threshold. 
“ They  are  anything  but  Russians  ! ” 

“You  ought  to  have  gone  to  the  village  commander!” 

“But  I do  not  know  where  all  the  places  are,”  Van- 
yusha replied,  peevishly. 

“ Who  has  been  insulting  you  ? ” Olenin  asked,  casting 
a glance  around  him. 

“ The  devil  knows  them  ! Pshaw  ! The  real  master  is 
not  here ; they  say  he  has  gone  to  a ‘ kriga.’ 1 And  the 
old  woman  is  a devil,  — the  Lord  preserve  me  from  such,” 
answered  Vanyusha,  grasping  his  head.  “ I really  do  not 
know  how  we  shall  manage  to  live  here.  They  are  worse 
than  Tartars,  upon  my  word.  What  of  it  if  they  call  them- 
selves Christians  ? Take  a Tartar,  he  is  more  gentle- 
manly. ‘ He  has  gone  to  the  kriga  ! ’ I can’t  make  out 
what  they  mean  by  ‘ kriga’!”  Vanyusha  concluded, 
turning  aside. 

“ What  ? They  are  not  like  our  country  people  ? ” said 
Olenin,  jestingly,  remaining  on  his  horse. 

1 A place  near  the  hank,  surrounded  by  a wattled  fence,  where  fish 
are  caught. 


140 


THE  COSSACKS 


"Let  me  have  the  horse,  if  you  please,”  said  Vanyusha, 
obviously  put  out  by  the  new  order  of  things,  but  sub- 
mitting to  fate. 

"So  a Tartar  is  more  gentlemanly?  Eh,  Vanyusha?” 
repeated  Olenin,  dismounting,  and  slapping  his  saddle. 

" Yes,  you  can  laugh  ! It  seems  funny  to  you ! ” said 
Vanyusha,  in  an  angry  voice. 

"Wait,  don’t  get  angry,  Ivan  Vasilevich,”  answered  Ole- 
nin, continuing  to  smile.  "Just  let  me  see  the  people, 
and  you  will  see  how  I will  settle  them.  We  will  have 
a glorious  time  yet  1 Only  do  not  excite  yourself ! ” 

Vanyusha  did  not  retort  anything;  he  blinked,  con- 
temptuously looked  in  the  direction  of  his  master,  and 
shook  his  head.  Vanyusha  looked  upon  Olenin  only  as 
upon  his  master.  Olenin  looked  upon  Vanyusha  only 
as  upon  his  servant.  They  would  both  have  been  very 
much  surprised  if  some  one  had  told  them  that  they  were 
friends.  Yet  they  were  friends,  without  knowing  it  them- 
selves. Vanyusha  had  been  taken  to  the  house  when  he 
was  eleven  years  old,  when  Olenin  was  of  the  same  age. 
When  Olenin  was  fifteen  years  old,  he  for  awhile  gave 
Vanyusha  lessons,  and  taught  him  to  read  French,  of 
which  fact  Vanyusha  was  exceedingly  proud.  And  even 
now,  in  moments  of  cheerfulness,  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  dropping  now  and  then  a French  word,  whereat  he 
grinned  stupidly. 

Olenin  ran  up  to  the  porch  of  the  cabin,  and  pushed 
the  door  open  into  the  vestibule.  Maryanka,  in  nothing 
but  a rose-coloured  shirt,  as  Cossack  women  are  dressed 
at  home,  leaped  away  from  the  door  in  affright,  and, 
pressing  against  the  wall,  covered  the  lower  part  of  her 
face  with  the  broad  sleeve  of  her  Tartar  shirt.  As  Ol&nin 
opened  the  door  still  farther,  he  saw  in  the  half-light  the 
whole  tall  and  stately  figure  of  the  young  Cossack  maiden. 
With  the  swift  and  eager  curiosity  of  youth,  he  involun- 
tarily noticed  the  strong,  virgin  form  clearly  outlined 


THE  COSSACKS 


141 


under  the  thin  chintz  shirt,  and  the  beautiful  black  eyes 
which  were  directed  upon  him  with  childlike  terror  and 
wild  surprise. 

“ There  she  is  ! ” thought  Olenin.  “ Yes,  there  will  be 
many  more  such,”  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him,  and  he 
opened  another  door  of  the  cabin.  Mother  Ulitka,  also 
in  nothing  but  a shirt,  was  turned  with  her  back  toward 
him,  and,  bending  over,  was  sweeping  the  floor. 

“ Good  day,  mother ! I have  come  to  ask  about  the 
quarters,”  he  began. 

The  Cossack  woman,  without  unbending,  turned  to  him 
her  austere,  but  still  comely  face. 

“ What  did  you  come  for  ? You  want  to  make  fun  of 
me  ? What  ? Ill  give  you  fun  ! The  black  plague  take 
you ! ” she  cried,  looking  askance  at  the  stranger,  with  a 
scowl. 

Olenin  had  imagined  at  first  that  the  hard-working 
brave  Army  of  the  Caucasus,  of  which  he  was  a member, 
would  be  received  everywhere  with  joy,  especially  by  the 
Cossacks,  his  companions  of  war,  and  therefore  such  a 
reception  puzzled  him.  However,  he  did  not  become 
confused,  and  wished  to  explain  that  he  intended  to  pay 
for  his  quarters,  but  the  old  woman  would  not  let  him 
finish  his  words. 

“ Why  did  you  come  ? Who  needs  such  a sore  ? You 
sandpapered  snout!  Just  wait,  the  master  will  come, 
and  he  will  show  you  the  place ! I do  not  need  your 
damnable  money.  I guess  we  have  seen  that  before ! 
You  will  smoke  up  the  room  with  your  tobacco,  and  you 
mean  to  pay  with  money  for  it ! We  have  not  seen  such 
a sore  before  ! Oh,  that  they  had  shot  your  heart  out ! ” 
she  cried,  in  a shrill  voice,  interrupting  Olenin. 

“ Evidently  Vanyusha  is  right,”  thought  Olenin.  “ A 
Tartar  is  more  gentlemanly,”  and  accompanied  by  Mother 
Ulitka’s  curses,  he  walked  out  of  the  cabin.  As  he  was 
going  out,  Marydnka,  still  in  her  rose-coloured  shirt,  but 


142 


THE  COSSACKS 


wrapped  up  to  her  eyes  in  a white  kerchief,  suddenly 
flashed  by  him,  and  out  of  the  vestibule.  Eapidly  trip- 
ping down  the  steps  in  her  bare  feet,  she  ran  away  from 
the  entrance,  stopped,  cast  with  her  smiling  eyes  a rapid 
glance  upon  the  young  man,  and  disappeared  around  the 
corner  of  the  cabin. 

The  firm,  youthful  gait,  the  wild  glance  of  the  sparkling 
eyes  beneath  her  white  kerchief,  and  the  stateliness  of  the 
fair  maiden’s  strong  frame  now  produced  an  even  stronger 
impression  upon  014nino  “ It  must  be  she  ! ” he  thought ; 
and  forgetting  about  his  quarters,  and  all  the  time  look- 
ing back  at  Maryanka,  he  walked  up  to  Vanyusha. 

“ You  see,  the  girl  is  just  as  wild ! ” said  Vanyusha, 
who  was  still  busy  with  the  cart,  but  in  somewhat 
better  spirits.  “ She  is  just  like  a filly  of  the  steppes. 
La  femme  !”  he  added,  in  a loud  and  solemn  voice,  and 
burst  out  laughing. 


XL 


In  the  evening  the  master  returned  from  his  fishing 
expedition ; upon  discovering  that  he  was  to  be  paid  for 
quarters,  he  pacified  the  old  woman,  and  satisfied  Van- 
yusha’s demands. 

Everything  was  arranged  in  the  new  home.  The  pro- 
prietors passed  over  to  the  “ warm  ” cabin,  and,  for  three 
roubles  a month,  turned  over  the  “cold”  cabin  to  the 
yunker.  Olenin  took  a lunch,  and  lay  down  for  a nap. 
He  awoke  before  evening,  washed  himself,  cleaned  his 
clothes,  ate  his  dinner,  and,  lighting  a cigarette,  sat 
down  near  the  window  facing  the  street.  The  heat  had 
subsided. 

The  slanting  shadow  of  the  cabin,  with  its  carved  ridge- 
piece,  lay  across  the  dusty  street,  and  even  bent  upwards 
on  the  lower  part  of  the  house  opposite.  The  sloping 
reed  thatch  of  this  house  was  gleaming  in  the  rays  of  the 
setting  sun.  The  air  was  growing  cool.  The  village 
was  still.  The  soldiers  had  found  their  quarters,  and 
were  quiet.  The  herds  had  not  yet  been  driven  home, 
and  the  people  had  not  yet  returned  from  their  field 
labour. 

Olenin’s  quarters  were  almost  at  the  edge  of  the  vil- 
lage. Now  and  then,  somewhere  far  beyond  the  T4rek, 
in  the  direction  from  which  Olenin  had  come,  could  be 
heard  the  hollow  reports  of  shots,  somewhere  in  the 
Chechnya,  or  in  the  Kumyk  plain. 

Olenin  felt  at  ease  after  three  months  of  camp  life. 

143 


144 


THE  COSSACKS 


His  well- washed  face  felt  fresh,  his  strong  body  felt  clean 
after  the  long  march,  and  all  his  limbs  felt  strong  and 
rested. 

His  mind,  too,  felt  fresh  and  clear.  He  thought  of  the 
expedition,  and  the  past  peril.  He  recalled  that  he  had 
behaved  well  during  all  the  perils,  that  he  was  not  worse 
than  the  rest,  and  that  he  had  been  received  into  the 
company  of  brave  Caucasians.  His  Moscow  recollections 
were  now  God  knows  where.  His  old  -life  was  wiped 
out,  and  a new,  an  entirely  new  life,  in  which  no  mis- 
takes had  yet  been  committed,  began  for  him.  He  could, 
a new  man  among  new  people,  earn  here  a new  and  good 
opinion  of  himself.  He  experienced  the  youthful  feeling 
of  a causeless  happiness  in  life,  and,  looking  now  through 
the  window  at  the  boys  spinning  their  tops  in  the  shadow 
of  the  house,  and  now  at  his  new  neat  lodging,  he  thought 
of  how  pleasantly  he  would  arrange  things  in  this  unfa- 
miliar life  in  the  village.  He  also  gazed  at  the  mountains 
and  at  the  sky,  and  with  all  his  recollections  and  dreams 
mingled  the  austere  feeling  of  the  majesty  of  Nature. 
Life  had  begun  differently  from  what  he  had  expected, 
when  he  departed  from  Moscow,  but,  nevertheless,  sur- 
passing his  expectation.  The  mountains,  the  mountains, 
the  mountains  were  in  everything  he  thought  and  felt. 

“He  has  kissed  his  dog!  He  has  licked  the  jug! 
Uncle  Erdshka  has  kissed  his  dog!”  suddenly  cried  the 
Cossack  boys  who  were  spinning  their  tops  under  the 
window,  running  to  the  lane.  “ He  has  kissed  his  dog ! 
He  has  sold  his  dagger  for  drinks,”  cried  the  boys,  crowd- 
ing together  and  retreating. 

These  cries  were  directed  to  Uncle  Eroshka,  who,  with 
his  gun  on  his  back  and  some  pheasants  in  his  belt,  was 
returning  from  the  hunt. 

“ It  is  my  sin,  boys,  my  sin ! ” he  said,  wildly  waving 
his  arms,  and  looking  through  the  windows  of  the  cabins 
on  both  sides  of  the  road.  “I  have  sold  my  dog  for 


THE  COSSACKS 


145 


drinks,  it  is  my  sin ! ” he  repeated,  apparently  angry,  but 
pretending  that  it  made  no  difference  to  him. 

Olenin  was  surprised  at  the  boys’  treatment  of  the  old 
hunter,  and  he  was  still  more  struck  by  the  expressive 
and  intelligent  face  and  by  the  powerful  frame  of  the 
man  whom  they  called  Uncle  Eroshka. 

“Grandfather!  Cossack!”  he  said,  turning  to  him. 
“ Come  here,  if  you  please ! ” 

The  old  man  looked  at  the  window,  and  stopped. 

“ Good  evening,  good  man ! ” he  said,  raising  his  cap 
above  his  clipped  hair. 

“ Good  evening,  good  man  ! ” answered  Olenin.  “ Why 
do  the  boys  call  that  way  to  you  ? ” 

Uncle  Eroshka  walked  up  to  the  window. 

“ They  are  teasing  me,  an  old  man.  That  is  nothing,  I 
like  it.  Let  them  have  their  fun  out  of  uncle,”  he  said, 
in  the  firm  singsong  intonations,  in  which  respectable 
old  people  speak.  “Are  you  the  commander  of  the 
soldiers  ? ” 

“ No,  I am  a yunker.  Where  did  you  shoot  these 
pheasants  ? ” Olenin  asked  him. 

“ I shot  three  hens  in  the  woods,”  answered  the  old 
man,  turning  to  the  window  his  broad  back,  where,  with 
their  heads  stuck  through  the  belt  and  staining  the 
mantle,  hung  three  pheasants.  “ Have  you  never  seen 
any  before  ? ” he  asked.  “ If  you  want  to,  you  may  have 
two.  Here ! ” and  he  put  two  pheasants  through  the  win- 
dow. “ Well,  are  you  a hunter  ?”  he  asked  him. 

* I am,  I myself  killed  four  during  the  march.” 

“Four?  That  is  a lot!”  said  the  old  man,  sarcasti- 
cally. “ And  are  you  a toper  ? Do  you  drink  red  wine  ? ” 
“ Why  not  ? I do  like  a drink  now  and  then.” 

“Well,  I see  you  are  a fine  fellow!  We  will  be 
friends,”  said  Uncle  Eroshka. 

“ Come  in,”  said  Olenin,  “ and  we  will  have  some  red 
wine ! ” 


146 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ I will,”  said  the  old  man.  “ Take  the  pheasants  1 ” 

One  could  see  by  the  old  man’s  face  that  he  took  a lik- 
ing to  the  yunker ; and  he  immediately  understood  that 
he  could  have  a drink  without  paying  for  it,  and  therefore 
it  was  all  right  to  present  him  with  two  pheasants. 

A few  minutes  later,  the  form  of  Uncle  Eroshka 
appeared  in  the  door  of  the  cabin.  It  was  only  then  that 
Olenin  noticed  the  whole  size  and  powerful  build  of  the 
man,  even  though  his  cinnamon-coloured  face,  with  its 
perfectly  white  long  beard,  was  all  furrowed  with  deep 
wrinkles  of  old  age  and  hard  labour.  The  muscles  of  his 
legs,  arms,  and  shoulders  were  as  full  and  firm  as  in  a 
young  man.  On  his  head,  deep  scars,  all  healed  over, 
were  visible  under  his  short  hair.  His  thick  venous  neck 
was  covered  with  checkered  folds,  as  in  an  ox.  His  rough 
hands  were  all  battered  and  scratched  up. 

He  crossed  the  threshold  with  ease  and  agility,  took  off 
his  gun  and  put  it  in  the  corner,  with  a rapid  glance  sur- 
veyed and  estimated  the  private  belongings  that  were 
lying  in  the  room,  and,  without  stamping  his  buckskin- 
clad,  slanting  feet  on  the  floor,  walked  into  the  middle  of 
the  room.  With  him  entered  into  the  room  a strong  and 
disagreeable  odour  of  red  wine,  brandy,  powder,  and 
clotted  blood. 

Uncle  Eroshka  bowed  toward  the  images,  straightened 
out  his  beard,  and,  walking  up  to  Olenin,  gave  him  his  fat 
black  hand. 

“ Koshkildy  ! ” he  said.  This  means,  in  Tartar,  “ We 
wish  you  health,”  or  “ Peace  be  with  you,”  as  they  say. 

“ Koshkildy  ! I know,”  answered  Olenin,  giving  him  his 
hand. 

“No,  you  do  not  know,  you  do  not  know  the  proper 
way,  you  fool ! ” said  Uncle  Eroshka,  reproachfully  shak- 
ing his  head.  “ When  they  say  ‘ Koshkildy  ’ to  you,  you 
must  answer,  ‘ Allah  razi  to  sun!  God  save  you!’ 
T1  at’s  the  way,  my  father,  and  not  ‘ Koshkildy  ! * I’ll 


THE  COSSACKS 


147 


teach  you  everything.  We  had  a Russian  here,  by  the 
name  of  Ilya  Mos&ch : he  and  I were  chums.  He  was  a 
fine  fellow.  Toper,  thief,  hunter.  Oh,  what  a hunter  he 
was  ! I taught  him  everything.” 

“ What  are  you  going  to  teach  me  ? ” asked  Olenin, 
becoming  more  and  more  interested  in  the  old  man. 

“ I will  take  you  out  hunting ; I will  teach  you  to  catch 
fish ; I will  show  the  Chechens  to  you ; and  if  you  want 
a sweetheart,  I will  find  you  one.  That’s  the  kind  of  a 
man  I am!  I am  a joker!”  and  the  old  man  burst  out 
laughing.  “ I will  sit  down,  my  father,  I am  tired. 
Karga  ? ” he  added,  with  an  interrogative  look 
“ What  does  karga  mean  ? ” asked  Olenin. 

“ It  means  ‘ good  ’ in  the  Georgian  language.  I am  just 
saying  it ; it  is  a byword  of  mine,  my  favourite  word. 
Karga , — when  I say  that,  I mean  I am  joking.  Now, 
father,  order  up  some  red  wine.  Have  you  a soldier  who 
is  serving  you  ? Have  you  ? Ivan  ! ” called  out  the 
old  man.  “ All  your  soldiers  are  named  Ivan.  Is  yours 
Iv4n,  too  ? ” 

“ That’s  right,  Ivan,  Vanyusha ! Please  get  soma  red 
wine  from  the  landlord,  and  bring  it  here.” 

« It’s  all  the  same,  Vanyusha,  or  Ivan.  Why  are  all 
your  soldiers  called  Ivan  ? Ivan  ! ” repeated  the  old  man. 
“ You  ask  from  the  tapped  cask.  They  have  the  best  red 
wine  in  the  village.  Don’t  give  more  than  thirty  kopeks 
an  eighth  measure ; remember,  don’t  give  any  more,  for 
she  is  a hag,  and  will  — Our  people  are  a damned,  fool- 
ish lot,”  continued  Uncle  Eroshka,  in  a confidential  tone, 
after  Vanyusha  had  left.  “ They  do  not  regard  you  as 
men.  You  are  worse  than  a Tartar  to  them.  The  Rus- 
sians they  call  beggars.  But,  in  my  opinion,  though  you 
are  a soldier,  you  are  a man  all  the  same,  and  you  have  a 
soul  in  you  Am  I not  judging  right  ? Ilya  Mos&ch 
was  a soldier,  but  what  a fine  fellow  he  was ! Is  it  not 
so,  my  father  ? That’s  why  ours  do  not  like  me ; but 


148 


THE  COSSACKS 


that  makes  no  difference  to  me.  I am  a cheerful  fellow ; 
I love  everybody,  — I am  Eroshka,  that’s  right,  my 
father ! ” 

And  the  old  man  gently  slapped  the  young  man  on  the 
shoulder. 


XII 


In  the  meantime,  Vanyusha,  who  had  gotten  all  his 
house  affairs  in  good  order,  had  been  shaved  by  the  com- 
pany barber,  and  had  taken  his  trousers  out  of  his  boot- 
legs, as  a sign  that  the  company  was  now  lodged  in 
commodious  quarters,  was  now  in  the  best  of  spirits.  He 
gazed  attentively,  but  not  malevolently,  at  Eroshka,  as 
though  he  were  a strange  wild  beast,  shook  his  head  at  the 
floor  which  he  had  soiled,  and,  taking  out  from  under 
the  bench  two  empty  bottles,  went  to  see  the  landlady. 

“ Good  evening,  my  good  people ! ” he  said,  having 
decided  to  be  particularly  gentle.  “ My  master  has  told 
me  to  buy  some  red  wine.  Fill  these,  good  people  ! ” 

The  old  woman  did  not  answer.  The  maiden  was 
standing  in  front  of  a small  Tartar  mirror,  and  fixing  a 
kerchief  on  her  head ; she  looked  silently  at  Vanyusha. 

“I  will  pay  cash,  worthy  people,”  said  Vanyusha,  rat- 
tling the  copper  coins  in  his  pocket.  “ You  be  good,  and 
we  will  be  good,  — and  that  will  be  best,”  he  added. 

“ How  much  ? ” the  old  woman  asked,  curtly. 

“ An  eighth  measure.” 1 

“ Go,  my  dear,  and  draw  it  for  them,”  said  Mother 
Ulitka,  turning  to  her  daughter.  “ Draw  it  off  from  the 
cask  that  has  been  tapped,  my  darling.” 

The  girl  took  the  keys  and  a decanter,  and  walked  out 
of  the  room  together  with  Vanyusha. 

xThat  is,  one-eighth  of  a 48  bucket,”  which  latter  is  about  two  and 
a half  gallons. 


149 


150 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ Tell  me  who  is  that  woman  ? ” asked  Olenin,  pointing 
to  Maryanka,  who  was  just  then  passing  by  the  window. 

The  old  man  winked,  and  nudged  the  young  man  with 
his  elbow. 

“ Wait,”  he  said,  and  leaned  out  of  the  window.  “ Kkhm  ! 
Kkhm ! ” he  coughed  and  bellowed.  “ Maryanushka  ! 0 
Maryanka  ! Love  me,  my  darling ! I am  a joker,”  he 
added,  in  a whisper,  turning  to  014nin. 

The  girl  did  not  turn  her  head,  but,  evenly  and  vigor- 
ously swinging  her  arms,  passed  by  the  window  with  the 
foppish,  dashing  gait  peculiar  to  the  Cossack  women.  She 
only  cast  a slow  glance  upon  the  old  man  with  her  black, 
shaded  eyes. 

“ Love  me,  and  you  will  be  happy  ! ” cried  Eroshka,  and, 
winking,  looked  questioningly  at  Olenin.  “ I am  a dash- 
ing fellow,  I am  a joker,”  he  added.  “ She  is  a queen,  eh  ? ” 
“ A beauty,”  said  Olenin.  “ Call  her  up  ! ” 

“ Not  a bit  of  it ! ” said  the  old  man.  “ They  are  trying 
to  get  her  married  to  Lukashka.  Luka  is  a fine  Cossack, 
a brave,  — the  other  day  he  killed  an  abr4k.  I will  find 
a better  one  for  you.  I will  find  you  one  that  is  all 
dressed  in  silk  and  silver.  I told  you  I would  get  you 
one,  and  so  I will.  I’ll  find  a beauty  for  you.” 

“ You  are  an  old  man,  and  see  what  you  are  saying ! ” 
said  Olenin.  “ This  is  sinful.” 

“ Sinful  ? Where  is  the  sin  ? ” the  old  man  answered, 
with  determination.  “ Is  it  a sin  to  look  at  a pretty  girl  ? 
A sin  to  stroll  with  one  ? A sin  to  love  one  ? Is  it  so 
with  you  ? No,  my  father,  it  is  not  a sin,  but  a salvation. 
God  has  made  you,  and  He  has  made  a girl.  He,  my 
friend,  has  made  everything.  And  so  it  is  not  a sin  to 
look  at  a pretty  girl.  That’s  what  she  is  for : to  be  loved, 
and  to  be  looked  at.  That’s  the  way  I judge,  my  good 
man.” 

Having  crossed  the  yard  and  entered  into  the  dark, 
cool  outhouse,  filled  with  casks,  Maryanka,  with  the  usual 


THE  COSSACKS 


151 


prayer,  walked  up  to  one  of  them,  and  put  in  the  siphon. 
Vanyusha  stood  in  the  door  and  smiled,  looking  at  her. 
It  seemed  very  funny  to  him  that  she  wore  nothing  but  a 
shirt,  which  fitted  her  behind,  but  was  tucked  up  in  front, 
and  still  funnier  that  half-rouble  pieces  hung  down  from 
her  neck.  He  thought  that  it  was  un-Russian,  and  that 
the  people  of  his  village  would  have  a laugh  if  they  saw 
such  a girl.  “ La  fille  comme  cTest  tres  biA,  for  a change,” 
he  thought,  “ I will  say  now  to  my  master.” 

“ What  are  you  gaping  for,  you  devil  ? ” suddenly  cried 
the  girl.  “ Let  me  have  your  decanter  ! ” 

Having  filled  the  decanter  with  cool  red  wine,  Mar- 
yanka  handed  it  to  Vanyusha. 

“ Give  the  money  to  mother  ! ” she  said,  pushing  away 
Vanyusha’s  hand  with  the  money. 

Vanyusha  smiled. 

“ What  makes  you  so  angry,  my  dear  people  ? ” he 
said,  good-naturedly  shuffling  his  feet,  while  the  girl 
closed  the  cask. 

She  began  to  laugh. 

“ And  are  you  kind  people  ? ” 

“ My  master  and  I are  very  kind  people,”  Vanyusha 
replied,  convincingly.  “ We  are  such  kind  people  that 
wherever  we  have  lived  the  people  have  been  grateful 
to  us.  Because,  you  see,  he  is  a nobleman.” 

The  girl  stopped  and  listened. 

“ Is  he  married,  your  master  ? ” she  asked. 

“No!  Our  master  is  young  and  a bachelor.  Because, 
you  see,  noblemen  can  never  marry  young,”  Vanyusha 
replied,  instructively. 

“ What  do  I know  ? He  is  as  fat  as  a buffalo,  and  too 
young  to  marry ! Is  he  the  commander  of  the  whole 
lot  of  you  ? ” she  asked. 

“ My  master  is  a yunker,  that  means,  not  yet  an  officer. 
But  he  knows  a lot  more  than  a general,  or  any  big  man. 
Because,  you  see,  not  only  our  colonel,  but  the  Tsar  him- 


152 


THE  COSSACKS 


self  knows  him,”  Vanyusha  explained,  proudly.  “We 
are  not  like  any  other  military  trash,  but  our  master’s 
father  was  a senator.  He  had  a thousand  souls,  or  more, 
and  they  send  us  a thousand  roubles  at  a time.  And 
that’s  why  they  always  like  us.  Take  many  a captain, 
and  he  has  no  money.  So  what’s  the  use  ? ” 

“ Go,  I want  to  lock  up,”  the  girl  interrupted  him. 

Vanyusha  brought  the  wine,  and  he  announced  to 
Olenin  that  “ La  fille  c’est  tres  joulie”  and  immediately 
went  away,  with  his  stupid  laugh. 


XIII. 


In  the  meantime,  they  were  beating  the  tattoo  in  the 
square.  The  people  were  returning  from  their  work. 
The  herds  were  lowing  in  the  gates,  crowding  together 
in  a dusty,  gold-like  cloud,  and  the  girls  and  women  were 
bustling  in  the  streets  and  yards,  driving  the  cattle  to 
their  stalls. 

The  sun  had  entirely  disappeared  behind  the  distant 
snow-capped  range.  A bluish  shadow  was  stretched  out 
over  the  earth  and  sky.  Over  the  darkling  gardens  the 
stars  were  barely  gleaming,  and  the  sounds  slowly  died 
down  in  the  village.  After  housing  their  cattle,  the 
Cossack  women  congregated  in  the  corners  of  the  streets, 
and  sat  down  on  the  mounds,  cracking  pumpkin  seeds. 
Maryanka  joined  one  of  these  circles,  after  she  had 
milked  her  two  cows  and  the  buffalo. 

The  circle  consisted  of  a few  women  and  girls,  and  one 
old  Cossack. 

They  were  talking  about  the  dead  abr£k.  The  Cossack 
told  the  story,  and  the  women  asked  him  questions. 

“ I suppose  he  will  get  a good  reward  for  it,”  said  a 
Cossack  woman. 

“ I should  say  so.  They  say  they  will  send  him  a 
cross.  Mos6v  did  not  treat  him  right.  He  took  away 
his  gun,  but  the  authorities  in  Kizlyar  found  out  about  it.” 

“ He  is  a mean  fellow,  that  Mos4v.” 

“ I have  heard  them  say  that  Lukashka  is  here,”  said 
a girl. 

“ He  and  Nazarka  are  on  a spree  at  Y^mka’s.” 
163 


154 


THE  COSSACKS 


(Ydmka  was  an  unmarried,  dissolute  woman,  who  kept 
a saloon.) 

“ They  say  they  have  drunk  half  a bucket.” 

“ Now  that  was  a piece  of  luck  for  the  ‘ Saver’ ! ” said 
some  one.  “ He  is  indeed  a ‘ Saver  ’ ! I must  say  he  is  a 
fine  fellow  ! Awfully  clever  ! As  brave  as  can  be  ! His 
father,  Kiryak,  was  a brave  man,  too ! And  he  is  just 
like  his  father.  When  he  was  killed,  the  whole  village 
wept  for  him.  There  they  are  coming,  I think,”  con- 
tinued the  speaker,  pointing  to  the  Cossacks  who  were 
moving  in  the  street  toward  them.  “ Ergushov  is  along 
with  them.  What  a toper  he  is  ! ” 

Lukashka,  Nazarka,  and  Ergushov,  having  emptied  half 
a bucket,  were  walking  to  the  girls.  They  were  all  redder 
in  their  faces  than  usual ; particularly  Cossack  Ergushov 
staggered  along  and,  laughing  loudly,  kept  punching  Na- 
zarka in  his  sides. 

“ Wenches,  why  don’t  you  sing  songs?”  he  shouted  to 
the  girls.  “ I say,  sing  for  our  amusement ! ” 

“ Have  you  passed  a pleasant  day  ? Have  you  passed 
a pleasant  day  ? ” were  heard  the  greetings. 

“ What  singing ! Is  this  a holiday  ? ” said  a woman. 
“ You  are  puffed  up,  so  sing  yourself !” 

Ergushov  laughed  out  loud,  and  punched  Nazarka. 
“ Start  a song,  and  I will  sing,  too.  I am  clever  at  that, 
I say.” 

“ Well,  beauties,  are  you  asleep  ? ” said  Nazarka.  “ We 
have  come  from  the  cordon  to  have  something  to  drink. 
And  we  have  drunk  to  Lukashka’s  good  luck.” 

Lukashka  walked  up  to  the  circle,  leisurely  raised  his 
lambskin  cap,  and  stopped  opposite  the  girls.  His  broad 
cheeks  and  his  neck  were  flushed.  He  stood  there 
and  spoke  softly  and  gravely ; but  in  the  deliberation  and 
gravity  of  his  movements  there  was  more  animation  and 
strength  than  in  Nazarka’s  prattle  and  bustle.  He  re- 
minded one  of  a playful  colt  which  raises  its  tail  and 


THE  COSSACKS 


15f 


snorts,  and  then  suddenly  stops  as  though  fastened  to  th<\ 
ground  by  all  its  feet.  Lukashka  stood  quietly  before 
the  girls  ; his  eyes  were  smiling ; he  said  little,  and  looked 
now  at  his  drunken  companions,  and  now  at  the  girls. 
When  Maryanka  came  to  the  corner,  he  raised  his  cap 
with  an  even,  leisurely  motion,  stepped  aside,  and  again 
planted  himself  in  front  of  her,  lightly  spreading  his  legs, 
thrusting  his  thumbs  into  the  belt,  and  playing  with  his 
dagger.  Maryanka  returned  his  greeting  by  a gentle 
inclination  of  her  head,  sat  down  on  the  mound,  and  took 
some  seeds  out  of  the  bosom  of  her  shirt.  Lukashka 
looked  at  Maryanka,  without  turning  his  eyes  away  from 
her,  and,  cracking  seeds,  kept  spitting  out  the  shells. 
Everybody  grew  silent  when  Maryanka  joined  them. 

“ Well,  are  you  going  to  stay  long  ? ” asked  a woman, 
breaking  the  silence. 

“ Until  to-morrow  morning,”  Lukashka  answered, 
gravely. 

“ Well,  God  grant  you  a good  advantage  ! ” said  the  old 
Cossack.  “ I am  glad.  I have  just  been  talking  about 
you.” 

“ And  I say  so,  too,”  said  drunken  Ergushov,  laughing. 
“ There  are  some  guests  here ! ” he  added,  pointing  to  a 
soldier  who  was  passing  by.  “ Soldiers’  brandy  is  good. 
I like  it ! ” 

“ They  have  sent  us  three  devils,”  said  a woman. 
“ Grandfather  went  to  the  village  elder’s  office,  but  they 
said  that  nothing  could  be  done.” 

“ Oh,  so  you  have  found  out  what  woe  is ! ” said 
Ergushov. 

“ I suppose  they  have  dirtied  up  your  house  with 
tobacco,”  said  another  woman.  “ Let  them  smoke  all  they 
want  to  in  the  yard,  but  I won’t  let  them  in  the  house. 
Even  if  the  elder  should  come,  I would  not  let  them. 
They  will  steal,  too.  Look  at  the  elder,  that  son  of  a 
devil ! He  has  not  quartered  any  soldiers  upon  himself.” 


156 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ You  don’t  like  them ! ” again  said  Ergushov. 

“ And  they  say  that  the  girls  have  to  make  the  beds 
for  the  soldiers,  and  fill  them  with  red  wine  and  mead,” 
said  Nazarka,  spreading  his  legs  like  Lukashka,  and  pois- 
ing his  cap  jauntily,  too. 

Ergushdv  roared  and  grasped  and  embraced  a girl  who 
was  sitting  nearest  to  him.  “ I tell  you,  it  is  so.” 

“ Keep  off,  you  pitch ! ” screamed  the  girl.  “ I will 
tell  my  mother.” 

“ Tell  her ! ” he  cried.  “ But  really,  Nazarka  is  telling 
the  truth : there  was  a circular  letter  about  it,  and  he  can 
read.  That’s  so.”  And  he  was  trying  to  hug  another 
girl,  the  next  one  in  order. 

“ Don’t  be  so  familiar,  scamp ! ” laughingly  shrieked 
ruddy,  round-faced  Ustenka,  raising  her  hand  to  box  his 
ears. 

The  Cossack  stepped  aside  and  almost  fell. 

“ And  they  say  that  a girl  has  no  strength.  She  almost 
killed  me.” 

“You  are  regular  pitch.  The  devil  has  brought  you 
from  the  cordon,”  said  Ustenka,  and,  turning  away  from 
him,  snorted  out  with  a laugh : “You  sleepyhead,  you 
have  missed  an  abr4k ! He  would  have  cut  your  throat, 
and  that  would  have  been  well.” 

“ You  would  have  blubbered ! ” Nazdrka  said,  and 
laughed. 

“ Just  watch  me  blubbering ! ” 

“ You  see,  she  does  not  even  care.  Would  she  weep  ? 
Nazarka,  eh  ? ” said  Ergushdv. 

Lukashka  was  all  the  time  gazing  silently  at  Mary^nka. 
His  glance  evidently  embarrassed  the  girl. 

“ Say,  Mary^nka,  have  they  quartered  a commander  on 
you  ? ” he  asked,  moving  up  to  her. 

Maryanka,  as  usual,  did  not  answer  at  once,  and  leisurely 
lifted  her  eyes  on  the  Cossacks.  Lukashka’s  eyes  were 
smiling,  as  though  something  special,  quite  different  from 


THE  COSSACKS 


157 


the  conversation,  were  taking  place  between  him  and  the 

girl- 

“ Yes,  they  are  all  right,  for  they  have  two  cabins,' ” said 
an  old  woman  for  Maryanka,  “but  at  Fomushkin’s  they 
have  lodged  their  commander,  and  they  say  he  has  so 
filled  up  the  room  with  his  things  that  the  Fomushkins 
have  no  place  left.  Who  has  ever  heard  such  a thing  ? 
They  have  driven  a whole  horde  of  them  into  the  village ! 
What  is  to  be  done  ? ” she  said.  “ And  they  will  act  here 
worse  than  the  black  plague  ! ” 

“ They  say  they  are  going  to  build  a bridge  across  the 
T£rek,”  said  one  of  the  girls. 

“And  they  told  me,”  said  Nazarka,  walking  up  to 
ustenka,  “ that  they  will  dig  a ditch  to  put  the  girls  in, 
because  they  do  not  love  young  fellows.”  And  again  he 
made  his  favourite  bow,  at  which  all  laughed,  and  Ergu- 
shov  immediately  started  to  hug  an  old  woman,  passing 
by  Maryanka,  who  was  next  in  order. 

“ Why  don’t  you  hug  Maryanka  ? Take  them  all  in 
order!”  said  Nazarka. 

“No,  my  old  woman  is  sweeter,”  cried  the  Cossack, 
kissing  the  struggling  woman. 

“ He  will  choke  me  to  death  ! ” she  cried,  laughing. 

The  even  tramp  of  steps  at  the  end  of  the  street  inter- 
rupted  the  laughter.  Three  soldiers,  in  overcoats,  with 
guns  across  their  shoulders,  wTere  keeping  step,  as  they 
walked  to  relieve  the  guard  at  the  company’s  chest. 

The  corporal,  an  old  bachelor,  looked  angrily  at  the 
Cossacks,  and  led  the  soldiers  in  such  a way  that  Lu- 
kashka  and  Nazarka,  who  were  standing  in  the  road,  should 
be  obliged  to  step  aside.  Nazarka  moved  away,  but 
Lukashka  only  blinked  and  turned  his  head  and  broad 
back,  and  did  not  stir. 

“ People  are  standing  here,  so  you  walk  around,”  he 
said,  looking  askance,  and  contemptuously  shaking  his 
head  to  the  soldiers. 


158 


THE  COSSACKS 


The  soldiers  passed  by  in  silence,  keeping  step  in  the 
dusty  road, 

Maryanka  laughed,  and  so  did  all  the  girls  after 
her. 

“ What  gallant  lads  ! ” said  Nazarka,  “ Just  like  long- 
skirted  chanters  !”  And  he  marched  down  the  street,  in 
order  to  mock  them. 

They  all  burst  out  laughing  again. 

Lukashka  slowly  walked  up  to  Maryanka. 

“ Where  is  your  officer  stationed  ? ” he  asked. 

Maryanka  thought  awhile. 

“ We  gave  them  the  new  cabin,”  she  said. 

“ Is  he  old  or  young  ? ” asked  Lukashka,  sitting  down 
near  her. 

“ Do  you  suppose  I have  asked  him  ? ” answered  the 
girl.  “ I went  to  fetch  some  red  wine  for  him,  and  saw 
him  through  the  window  with  Uncle  Eroshka,  — he  is  a 
red-haired  fellow.  They  have  brought  a whole  cartload 
of  things.” 

And  she  lowered  her  eyes. 

“ I am  so  glad  that  I had  a chance  to  get  leave  of 
absence  from  the  cordon  ! ” said  Lukashka,  moving  up 
nearer  to  the  girl  on  the  mound,  and  all  the  time  watch- 
ing her  eyes. 

“Well,  how  long  are  you  going  to  stay?”  asked 
Maryanka,  slightly  smiling. 

“ Till  to-morrow  morning.  Give  me  some  seeds  ! ” he 
added,  stretching  out  his  hand. 

Maryanka  was  all  smiles,  and  opened  the  collar  of  her 
shirt. 

“ Don’t  take  them  all,”  she  said. 

“ Truly,  I was  very  lonely  without  you,  upon  my  word,” 
Lukashka  said,  calmly,  in  a quiet  whisper,  taking  the 
seeds  out  of  the  bosom  of  the  girl’s  shirt ; and,  bending 
still  closer  to  her,  he  began  to  tell  her  something  in  & 
whisper,  with  smiling  eyes. 


THE  COSSACKS 


159 


“I  won't  come,  that’s  all,”  Maryanka  suddenly  ex- 
claimed, turning  away  from  him. 

“ Truly  — I wanted  to  tell  you  something,”  whispered 
Lukashka.  “ Upon  my  word  ! Do  come,  Maryanka  ! ” 

Maryanka  shook  her  head  in  refusal,  but  smiling. 

“ Sister  Maryanka ! O sister ! Mother  is  calling  you 
to  supper,”  cried  Maryanka’ s little  brother,  running  up  to 
the  women. 

“ I’ll  be  there  in  a minute,”  answered  the  girl.  “ Go, 
my  dear,  go  by  yourself ! I am  coming.” 

Lukashka  rose  and  raised  his  hat. 

“ I guess  I had  better  go  home  myself,”  he  said,  pre- 
tending to  be  indifferent,  but  with  difficulty  repressing  a 
smile.  He  disappeared  around  the  corner  of  the  house. 

In  the  meantime,  night  had  entirely  descended  upon 
the  village.  The  bright  stars  were  gleaming  in  the  dark 
heaven.  The  streets  were  dark  and  deserted.  Nazarka 
remained  with  the  women  on  the  mound,  and  their 
laughter  could  be  heard ; but  Lukashka,  having  softly 
walked  away  from  the  girls,  crouched  like  a cat,  and 
suddenly,  holding  his  dangling  dagger,  began  to  run, 
noiselessly,  not  to  his  house,  but  in  the  direction  of  the 
ensign’s  cabin.  Having  run  along  two  streets  and  turned 
into  a lane,  he  lifted  his  mantle  and  seated  himself  on  the 
ground  in  the  shadow  of  a fence. 

“ Just  look  at  the  ensign’s  daughter!”  he  thought  of 
Maryanka.  “ She  will  not  have  any  fun,  the  devil  ! My 
time  will  come.” 

The  steps  of  an  approaching  woman  distracted  his 
thoughts.  He  began  to  listen  and  to  smile  to  himself. 
Maryanka,  with  drooping  head,  was  walking  with  rapid 
and  even  steps  straight  toward  him,  striking  with  a stick 
against  the  pickets  of  a fence.  LuMshka  rose  a little. 
Maryanka  was  startled,  and  stopped. 

“ Accursed  devil  I You  have  frightened  me.  You  did 
not  go  home,”  she  said,  laughing  loud. 


160 


THE  COSSACKS 


Lukashka  embraced  the  girl  with  one  hand,  and  with 
the  other  he  touched  her  face. 

“ I wanted  to  tell  you  — upon  my  word  ! ” his  voice  was 
quivering  and  broken. 

“ What  talk  have  you  found  for  the  night  ? ” answered 
Maryanka.  “ Mother  is  waiting  for  me,  and  you  had 
better  go  to  your  mistress.” 

Having  freed  herself  from  his  arms,  she  ran  a few  steps 
ahead.  When  she  reached  the  fence  of  her  yard,  she 
stopped  and  turned  to  the  Cossack  who  was  running 
by  her  side,  still  persuading  her  to  stay  an  hour  with 
him. 

“ Well,  what  is  it  you  wanted  to  say,  you  night-bird?” 
and  she  laughed  again. 

“ Do  not  make  fun  of  me,  Maryanka  ! Upon  my  word  ! 
What  if  I have  a mistress  ? The  devil  take  her ! You 
just  say  the  word,  and  I will  love  you  so  ! I will  do  any- 
thing you  want  me  to.  Do  you  hear  ? ” (He  jingled  the 
money  in  his  pocket.)  “Now  we  will  have  a fine  time. 
Other  people  are  enjoying  themselves,  but  how  about  me  ? 
I get  no  pleasure  from  you,  Maryanushka ! ” 

The  girl  did  not  reply.  She  stood  before  him,  and, 
with  the  rapid  motion  of  her  fingers,  broke  the  stick  into 
small  pieces. 

Lukashka  suddenly  clinched  his  fists  and  set  his  teeth. 

“ Why  should  I be  waiting  all  the  time  ? Do  I not 
love  you,  my  dear  ? Do  anything  you  please  with  me  ! ” 
he  suddenly  said,  frowning  angrily,  and  seizing  both  her 
hands. 

Maryanka  did  not  change  the  calm  expression  of  her 
countenance  and  voice. 

“ Don't  be  so  bold,  Lukashka,  but  listen  to  me ! ” she 
answered,  without  tearing  her  hands  away,  but  pushing 
him  aside.  “ Of  course,  I am  a girl,  but  you  listen  to  me  ! 
I cannot  do  as  I please,  but  if  you  love  me,  I will  tell  you 
something.  You  let  my  hands  go,  and  I will  tell  you.  I 


THE  COSSACKS 


161 


will  marry  you,  but  you  will  not  live  to  see  me  do  foolish 
things,”  said  Maryanka,  without  turning  her  face  away. 

“ As  to  marrying,  — it  is  not  in  my  power.  Maryanka, 
I want  you  to  love  me,”  said  Lukfishka,  suddenly  chang- 
ing his  gloomy  and  ferocious  manner  to  one  of  gentleness, 
submission,  and  tenderness.  He  smiled,  and  looked  her 
straight  in  the  eyes. 

Maryanka  pressed  close  to  him  and  gave  him  a smack- 
ing kiss  on  his  lips. 

“ My  darling ! ” she  whispered,  passionately  embracing 
him.  Then,  suddenly  tearing  herself  away,  she  ran,  and, 
without  turning  around,  walked  through  the  gate  of  her 
house. 

Maryanka  did  not  stop,  in  spite  of  the  Cossack's  request 
to  wait  another  minute,  and  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say. 

“ Go  on  ! They  will  see  us ! ” she  said.  “ Look  there, 
I think  I see  the  devil  of  a lodger  walking  in  the  yard." 

“ The  ensign's  daughter,"  Lukashka  thought  to  himself, 
“ will  marry  me ! Marrying  is  all  right,  but  you  love 
me!” 

He  found  Nazarka  at  Yamka's.  After  celebrating 
together,  he  went  to  Dunfiyka  and,  in  spite  of  her  in- 
fidelity, remained  there  over  night. 


XIV. 


Olenin  was  actually  in  the  yard  when  Maryanka  came 
in  through  the  gate,  and  he  heard  her  say,  “ The  devil  of 
a lodger  is  walking.”  All  that  evening  he  had  passed 
with  Uncle  Eroshka  on  the  porch  of  his  new  lodging. 
He  had  ordered  a table,  a samovar,  wine,  a burning 
candle  to  be  brought  out,  and,  while  drinking  his  tea  and 
smoking  a cigar,  he  listened  to  the  stories  of  the  old  man, 
who  was  seated  at  his  feet  on  the  steps. 

Though  the  air  was  calm,  the  candle  guttered,  and  the 
light  flickered  in  all  directions,  illuminating  now  the  post 
of  the  porch,  now  the  table  and  dishes,  now  the  white 
clipped  head  of  the  old  man.  Night-moths  flitted  about 
and,  shedding  the  dust  from  their  wings,  dashed  against 
the  table  and  the  glasses,  or  flew  into  the  candle-light,  or 
disappeared  in  the  darkness  of  the  air,  beyond  the  illu- 
minated circle. 

Olenin  and  Eroshka  emptied  together  five  bottles  of 
red  wine.  Eroshka  always  filled  the  glasses,  and,  giving 
one  to  Olenin,  drank  to  his  health,  and  talked  without 
cessation.  He  told  him  about  the  former  life  of  the  Cos- 
sacks, about  his  father,  “ The  Broad,”  who  used  to  carry 
on  his  shoulders  a boar’s  carcass  weighing  four  hundred 
pounds,  and  to  drink  two  buckets  of  wine  at  one  sitting. 
He  told  of  his  own  young  days,  and  of  his  friend  Girchik, 
with  whom  he  used  to  haul  felt  mantles  across  the  T^rek, 
during  the  black  plague.  He  told  him  of  one  of  his 
hunts  when  he  killed  two  stags  in  one  morning.  He  told 
him  of  his  mistress  who  used  to  run  after  him  at  night  to 

.162 


THE  COSSACKS 


163 


the  cordon.  And  he  told  all  this  so  eloquently  and  pic- 
turesquely that  Olenin  did  not  notice  how  the  time  was 
passing. 

“ That's  the  way  it  is,  my  father,"  he  said.  “ You  did  not 
know  me  during  my  golden  time,  or  I would  have  shown 
you  everything.  To-day  Eroshka  has  licked  the  pitcher, 
but  formerly  Eroshka’s  fame  thundered  through  the  army. 
Who  had  the  best  horse  ? Who  had  a Gurda  sabre  ? To 
whom  did  they  go  to  get  a drink,  or  have  a spree  ? 
Who  was  sent  into  the  mountains  to  kill  Akhm£t-khan  ? 
Always  Eroshka ! Whom  did  the  girls  love  ? Always 
Eroshka,  because  I was  a genuine  brave.  I was  a toper 
and  thief,  and  used  to  steal  the  herds  in  the  mountains, 
and  I was  a singer,  too : I could  do  anything.  There  are 
no  such  Cossacks  nowadays.  It  makes  you  feel  bad  to 
look  at  them.  They  are  no  taller  than  this"  (Erdshka 
pointed  to  about  three  feet  from  the  ground)  “ when  they 
put  on  some  stupid  boots,  and  do  nothing  but  look  at 
them  in  glee.  Or  they  puff  themselves  up  with  wine ; 
and  they  do  not  drink  like  men,  but  God  knows  how. 
And  who  was  I ? I was  Eroshka  the  thief ; I was 
known  not  only  in  the  villages,  but  in  the  mountains  as 
well.  I had  chums  among  princes.  I was  friendly  with 
everybody.  Whether  Tartar,  or  Armenian,  or  soldier,  or 
officer,  — it  was  all  the  same  to  me,  so  long  as  he  was  a 
tippler.  ‘ You/  he  says,  ‘ must  cleanse  yourself  from  foul 
contact : do  not  drink  with  the  soldiers,  do  not  eat  with 
the  Tartars  ! ’ " 

“ Who  says  that  ? ” asked  Oldnin. 

“ Our  chanters  say  so.  But  just  listen  to  a Tartar 
mullah  or  kadi.  He  says,  ‘ You  infidel  Giaours,  why  do 
you  eat  pork  ? ’ So  everybody  keeps  his  own  law.  But, 
in  my  opinion,  it  is  all  one.  God  has  made  everything  for 
man  to  enjoy.  There  is  no  sin  in  anything.  Take  an 
example  from  a wild  animal.  He  lives  in  the  Tartar 
reeds  as  well  as  in  ours.  Wherever  he  goes  is  his  home. 


164 


THE  COSSACKS 


What  God  has  given  him,  he  devours.  And  ours  say 
that  we  shall  have  to  lick  the  frying-pans  for  that  ? But 
I think  it  is  all  false,”  he  added,  after  a silence. 

“ What  is  false  ? ” asked  Olenin. 

“ What  the  chanters  say.  In  Ch^rvlenaya,  my  father, 
the  army  elder  was  a chum  of  mine.  He  was  a fine 
fellow,  just  like  me.  They  killed  him  in  the  Chechnya 
country.  He  used  to  say  that  the  chanters  got  that  all 
out  of  their  own  heads.  ‘You  give  up  the  ghost/  he 
would  say,  ‘and  the  grass  will  grow  out  on  your  little 
mound,  and  that  is  all/  ” The  old  man  laughed.  “ He 
was  a desperate  fellow.” 

“ How  old  are  you  ? ” asked  Olenin. 

“ God  knows ! Seventy  or  more.  When  you  had  a 
Tsarltsa,  I was  a grown-up  lad.  So  figure  out  how  much 
it  is  ! Will  that  make  seventy  ? ” 

“ Yes.  But  you  are  still  a fine  fellow.” 

“ Well,  thank  the  Lord,  I am  well,  entirely  well ; only 
a hag  of  a woman  has  ruined  me  — ” 

“ How  so  ? ” 

“ Just  ruined  me  — ” 

“ When  you  die,  will  the  grass  grow  over  you  ?”  Olenin 
repeated  his  words. 

Eroshka  evidently  did  not  wish  to  elucidate  his  mean- 
ing. He  kept  silent  for  a moment. 

“ And  what  did  you  think  ? Drink  ! ” he  cried,  smiling, 
and  giving  him  a glass  of  wine. 


XV. 


“ So,  what  was  I saying  ? ” he  continued,  trying  to  col- 
lect his  thoughts.  “ That's  the  kind  of  man  I am ! I 
am  a hunter.  There  is  no  other  hunter  in  the  whole 
army  to  match  me.  I will  find  and  show  to  you  every 
kind  of  animal,  and  every  kind  of  bird ; I know  where 
everything  is.  I have  dogs,  and  two  guns,  and  nets, 
and  a snare,  and  a hawk,  — I have  everything,  thank 
God ! If  you  are  a genuine  hunter,  and  not  given  to 
boasting,  I will  show  you  everything.  This  is  what  I 
am  ! If  I find  a track,  I at  once  know  what  animal  it 
belongs  to ; and  I know  where  it  lies  down,  and  where  it 
comes  to  drink,  or  to  wallow.  I sit  the  whole  night  on 
a scaffolding  and  watch,  — what's  the  use  of  staying  at 
home ! I would  only  commit  a sin,  and  puff  myself  up 
with  drink.  And  the  women  come  around  and  prattle, 
and  the  children  scream : it  is  enough  to  make  one  crazy. 
So  I go  out  at  twilight,  choose  a nice  place,  press  down 
the  reeds,  and  sit  down,  good  fellow  that  I am,  and  wait 
for  things  to  happen.  I know  everything  that  is  going 
on  in  the  woods.  I look  at  the  sky,  and  see  the  stars 
moving;  and  I look  at  them  to  find  out  the  time.  I 
look  around,  — the  forest  is  rustling,  and  I am  waiting 
for  something  to  crash,  and  for  a wild  boar  to  come  to  his 
wallow.  I hear  the  squeaking  of  young  eagles,  and  the 
noises  of  the  cocks  and  geese  in  the  village.  If  it  is 
the  geese,  — it  is  not  midnight  yet.  And  I know  all 
that.  And  if  I hear  the  report  of  a gun  somewhere  in  the 
distance,  I think  who  has  been  shooting.  Is  it  a Cossack 

165 


166 


THE  COSSACKS 


who  has  been  lying  in  wait  for  an  animal,  just  as  I am 
lying  ? And  has  he  killed  him,  or  has  he  only  wounded 
him,  and  will  the  beast  go  through  the  reeds,  leaving  a 
track  of  blood,  without  being  found  ? I do  not  like 
that ! Oh,  I do  not  like  that ! Why  has  he  ruined 
an  animal?  Fool!  Fool!  Or  I think,  ‘ Maybe  an 
abi*4k  has  killed  some  silly  young  Cossack ! 9 All  that 
passes  through  my  mind.  Once  I was  sitting  near  the 
water,  and  I saw  a cradle  carried  down  the  river.  It 
was  in  good  condition,  only  the  edge  was  broken  off. 
Then  the  thought  came  to  me,  whose  cradle  it  was. 
And  I thought  your  devilish  soldiers  must  have  gone 
to  some  native  village,  where  they  raped  the  Chechen 
women,  and  one  devil  grabbed  a baby  by  the  legs, 
and  banged  it  against  the  corner  of  the  house.  Don’t 
they  do  such  things  ? Oh,  some  people  have  no  souls ! 
And  then  all  kinds  of  thoughts  came  to  me,  and  I felt 
sorry  for  them.  It  occurred  to  me  that  they  might  have 
thrown  away  the  cradle,  and  driven  the  woman  off,  and 
burnt  the  house,  and  that  the  Chechen  brave  picked  up 
his  musket  and  went  out  ravaging  on  our  side.  And  so 
I sit  and  think.  And  when  I hear  a herd  in  the  thicket, 
my  heart  goes  pit-a-pat.  Come  up,  dear  ones  ! And  I am 
afraid  they  will  scent  me,  and  I sit  without  stirring,  and 
my  heart  is  in  a flutter,  and  it  almost  lifts  me  up  bodily. 
Last  spring  a fine  herd  came  up,  and  it  looked  black. 
‘ To  the  Father  and  the  Son  — ’ and  I was  about  to  shoot. 
Then  she  grunted  at  her  young  ones,  as  much  as  to  say, 
‘ Look  out,  children,  a man  is  sitting  there/  and  they 
crashed  through  the  brush.  And  there  she  had  been  so 
close  to  me  that  I almost  could  have  bitten  into  her.” 

“ How  did  the  sow  tell  her  young  ones  that  a man  was 
sitting  there  ? ” asked  Olenin. 

“ What  did  you  think  ? Did  you  think  that  the  beasts 
are  stupid  ? No,  they  are  more  intelligent  than  man, 
even  though  it  be  a boar.  They  know  everything.  Let 


THE  COSSACKS 


167 


us  take  this  example:  a man  walks  along  an  animal's 
trail  and  does  not  notice  it,  but  when  a boar  strikes  your 
trail,  he  scents  you  at  once,  and  off  he  makes ; evidently 
he  has  sense  enough  to  discover  your  scent  while  you  can- 
not even  perceive  your  own.  And  why  not  ? You  want 
to  kill  him,  but  he  wants  to  disport  himself  in  the  woods. 
You  have  your  law,  and  he  has  his.  He  is  a boar,  but  he 
is  not  worse  than  you  ; he  is  God’s  creature,  too.  Pshaw ! 
Man  is  stupid,  stupid,  stupid  ! ” The  old  man  repeated 
these  words  several  times,  and,  lowering  his  head,  fell  to 
musing. 

Olenin,  too,  was  pensive,  and,  walking  down  the  Jteps, 
silently  paced  the  yard,  with  his  arms  behind  his  back. 

When  Eroslika  awoke  from  his  reverie,  he  raised  his 
head  and  began  to  gaze  steadily  at  the  night-moths  which 
were  circling  around  the  quivering  candle-light  and  falling 
into  it. 

“ Fool ! Fool ! ” he  said.  “ Whither  do  you  fly  ? Fool ! 
Fool ! ” He  raised  himself  and  began  to  drive  off  the 
moths  with  his  stout  fingers. 

“ You  will  burn  yourself,  little  fool ! Fly  thither,  here 
is  room  enough,”  he  uttered,  in  a tender  voice,  trying  care- 
fully to  catch  it  by  its  wings  with  his  stout  fingers,  and 
to  liberate  it  again.  u You  are  destroying  yourself,  and  I 
am  sorry  for  you.” 

He  remained  sitting  for  a long  time,  and  drinking  from 
the  bottle.  But  Oldnin  continued  to  pace  the  yard. 
Suddenly  he  was  attracted  by  a whisper  on  the  other 
side  of  the  gate.  Involuntarily  holding  his  breath,  he 
could  make  out  a woman's  laugh,  a man's  voice,  and  the 
sound  of  a kiss.  He  purposely  shuffled  his  feet  on 
the  grass,  and  walked  over  to  the  other  side  of  the  yard. 
But  a little  while  later  the  wicker  fence  creaked.  A 
Cossack,  in  a dark  mantle  and  white  lambskin  cap  (it 
was  Lukashka),  walked  along  the  fence,  and  a tall  woman 
in  a white  kerchief  passed  by  Olenin. 


168 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ I have  nothing  to  do  with  you,  and  you  nothing  with 
me,”  Maryanka’s  firm  gait  seemed  to  say.  He  followed 
her  with  his  eyes  up  to  the  steps  of  the  cabin,  and  saw 
her  through  the  window  taking  off  her  kerchief  and  sitting 
down  on  a bench.  And  suddenly  the  feeling  of  pining,  of 
indistinct  desires  and  hopes,  and  of  a certain  envy  toward 
some  one  took  possession  of  the  young  man's  soul. 

The  last  lights  in  the  cabins  were  extinguished.  The 
last  sounds  died  down  in  the  village.  And  the  wicker 
fences,  and  the  white  cattle  in  the  yards,  and  the  thatches 
of  the  houses,  and  the  slender  poplars,  — everything 
seemed  to  sleep  a healthy,  tranquil  sleep  after  its  hard 
labours.  Only  the  uninterrupted  dinning  of  the  frogs 
reached  the  intent  ear  from  the  moist  places  in  the  dis- 
tance. The  stars  were  less  abundant  in  the  east,  and 
seemed  to  melt  away  in  the  growing  light.  Overhead 
they  receded  farther  and  farther,  and  became  ever  more 
abundant. 

The  old  man  had  fallen  asleep,  leaning  on  his  arm.  A 
cock  crowed  in  the  yard  across  the  street.  But  Olenin 
continued  to  walk,  lost  in  thought.  He  walked  up  to 
the  fence  and  began  to  listen.  Some  young  Cossacks 
were  tuning  a merry  song,  and  above  them  rose  especially 
one  shrill,  youthful  voice. 

“ Do  you  know  who  it  is  that  is  singing  there  ? ” said 
the  old  man,  upon  awaking.  “ It  is  Lukashka  the  Brave. 
He  has  killed  a Chechen,  and  so  he  is  celebrating.  And 
what  is  he  rejoicing  over,  fool  ? ” 

“ Have  you  killed  any  people  ? ” asked  Olenin. 

The  old  man  suddenly  raised  himself  on  both  elbows 
and  moved  his  face  close  to  Olenin’s. 

“ Devil ! ” he  cried  to  him.  “ Why  do  you  ask  ? One 
must  not  speak  of  this.  It  is  a very  clever  thing  to  kill  a 
man.  Oh,  so  clever ! Good-bye,  my  father,  I have  had 
enough  to  eat  and  to  drink,"  he  said,  rising.  “ Shall  I 
come  to-morrow  to  take  you  out  hunting  ? ” 


THE  COSSACKS 


169 


“ Do  come  ! ” 

“ Be  sure  and  get  up  early,  or  there  will  be  a fine.” 

“ Don’t  be  afraid  ! I will  get  up  before  you,”  answered 
Oldnin. 

The  old  man  went  away.  The  song  was  finished. 
Footsteps  and  merry  talking  could  be  heard.  A little 
later  the  singing  began  once  more,  but  farther  away,  and 
Eroshka’s  loud  voice  joined  the  former  voices. 

“ What  people  ! What  a life  ! ” thought  Olenin,  sigh« 
ing,  and  alone  returned  to  his  room. 


XVI. 


(Incle  Eroshka  was  a lonely  Cossack,  out  of  service. 
His  wife  had  become  an  Orthodox  Christian  twenty  years 
before,  and,  having  run  away  from  him,  had  married  a 
Russian  sergeant.  He  had  no  children.  It  was  not  an 
idle  boast,  when  he  said  that  he  had  been  the  bravest 
man  in  the  village.  He  had  been  known  throughout  the 
army  for  his  old-fashioned  deeds  of  bravery.  He  had 
upon  his  conscience  more  than  one  murder  of  Chechens 
and  Russians.  He  used  to  go  to  the  mountains,  had 
stolen  from  the  Russians,  and  had  been  twice  in  jail. 
The  greater  part  of  his  life  he  passed  in  hunting  and  in 
the  forest,  where,  for  days  at  a time,  he  ate  nothing  but  a 
piece  of  bread,  and  drank  nothing  but  water.  But  when 
he  returned  to  the  village,  he  went  on  a spree  from  the 
morning  to  the  evening. 

After  returning  home  from  Olenin  he  went  to  sleep  for 
about  two  hours.  He  awoke  long  before  daybreak,  and 
lay  on  his  bed  and  tried  to  form  an  opinion  of  the  man 
whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  the  evening  before.  He 
was  very  much  pleased  with  Olenin’s  simplicity  (which 
simplicity  consisted  in  letting  him  have  all  the  wine  he 
wanted).  And  he  was  pleased  with  Olenin  himself.  He 
was  wondering  why  all  the  Russians  were  simple  and 
rich,  and  why  they  knew  nothing,  and  yet  were  learned 
men.  He  was  meditating  over  these  questions,  and  also 
considering  what  to  ask  of  Olenin. 

Uncle  Eroshka’s  cabin  was  quite  large  and  not  old ; 

170 


THE  COSSACKS 


171 


but  the  absence  of  a woman  was  visible  in  everything. 
In  spite  of  the  usual  care  which  the  Cossacks  bestow  upon 
their  house,  his  best  room  was  filthy  and  in  the  greatest 
disorder.  On  the  table  were  thrown  his  blood-stained 
coat,  one  half  of  a milk  cake,  and  next  to  it  a plucked 
and  dismembered  jackdaw  to  feed  his  hawk  with.  On 
the  benches  lay  scattered  his  buckskin  shoes,  a gun,  a 
dagger,  a pouch,  wet  clothes,  and  rags.  In  the  corner,  in 
a tub  of  dirty,  ill-smelling  water,  another  pair  of  buckskins 
was  soaking.  On  the  floor  were  flung  a net  and  a few 
dead  pheasants  ; and  near  the  table  promenaded  a chicken 
with  one  of  its  legs  fettered,  and  tapping  on  the  dirty 
floor.  In  the  cold  oven  stood  a clay  pot  filled  with  some 
kind  of  a milky  liquid.  On  the  oven  screamed  a falcon, 
which  tried  to  tear  itself  away  from  its  cord,  and  a 
moulting  hawk  sat  solemnly  on  the  edge,  looking  askance 
at  the  chicken,  and  now  and  then  bending  its  head  from 
right  to  left.  Uncle  Eroshka  himself  lay  on  his  back  on 
a bed  which  had  been  built  in  between  the  oven  and  the 
wall ; lie  wore  nothing  but  a shirt,  and,  resting  his  mus- 
cular legs  on  the  oven,  was  picking  with  his  stout  fingers 
the  scabs  on  his  hands  which  had  been  scratched  up  by 
the  hawk,  for  he  was  in  the  habit  of  handling  him  with- 
out gloves.  The  air  of  the  whole  room,  but  especially  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  old  man,  was  saturated  by  that 
strong  but  disagreeable  and  mixed  odour  which  always 
accompanied  him. 

“ Uyde-ma  ” (that  is,  at  home),  “ uncle  ? ” He  heard  in 
the  window  a shrill  voice  which  he  at  once  recognized  as 
belonging  to  his  neighbour  Lukashka. 

“ Uyde , uyde , uyde  ! At  home,  come  in  ! ” cried  the  old 
man.  “ Neighbour  Marka,  Luka  Marka,  what  brings  you 
to  uncle  ? Are  you  going  back  to  the  cordon  ? ” 

The  hawk  was  startled  by  his  master's  voice,  and 
flapped  its  wings,  tugging  at  its  fetters. 

The  old  man  was  fond  of  Lukashka,  and  he  excluded 


172 


THE  COSSACKS 


him  alone  from  the  contempt  which  he  felt  for  the  whole 
young  generation  of  Cossacks.  Besides,  Lukashka  and 
his  mother,  being  his  neighbours,  frequently  gave  him 
wine,  boiled  cream,  and  other  domestic  products,  which 
Eroshka  did  not  possess.  Uncle  Eroshka,  who  was  all 
his  life  carried  away  by  one  thing  or  another,  always  gave 
a practical  explanation  to  his  impulses : “ Well  ? They 
are  people  of  means,”  he  said  to  himself.  “ I will  bring 
them  some  venison  or  a hen,  and  they  will  not  forget 
uncle:  they  will  bring  him  a pie  or  cakes  now  and 
then.” 

“ Good  morning,  Marka ! I am  glad  to  see  you,”  the 
old  man  cried,  merrily,  and,  with  a rapid  motion  throwing 
down  his  bare  legs  from  the  bed,  jumped  up,  made  two  or 
three  steps  over  the  creaking  floor,  looked  at  his  bandy 
legs,  and  suddenly  found  them  very  funny;  he  smiled, 
gave  one  stamp  with  his  bare  heel,  and  then  a second 
stamp,  and  struck  an  attitude. 

“ Did  I do  it  smartly  ? ” he  asked,  his  small  eyes 
sparkling  with  delight. 

Lukashka  barely  smiled. 

“ Are  you  going  back  to  the  cordon  ? ” the  old  man 
asked. 

"I  have  brought  you  some  red  wine  which  I had 
promised  you  at  the  cordon.” 

“ Christ  save  you ! ” said  the  old  man ; he  picked  up 
his  wide  trousers  and  half-coat,  put  them  on,  girded  him- 
self with  a strap,  poured  some  water  from  a clay  pot  on 
his  hands,  wiped  them  against  some  old  trousers,  with  a 
piece  of  a comb  straightened  out  his  beard,  and  stood  up 
in  front  of  Lukashka.  “ I am  ready,”  he  said. 

Lukashka  took  a wine-glass,  wiped  it,  filled  it  with 
wine,  and,  sitting  down  on  a bench,  offered  it  to  the  old 
man. 

“ To  your  health  ! To  the  Father  and  the  Son  ! ” said 
the  old  man,  with  solemnity  receiving  the  wine.  “ May  all 


THE  COSSACKS 


173 


your  wishes  be  fulfilled  ! May  you  be  a brave,  and  earn  a 
cross ! ” 

Lukashka,  too,  uttered  a prayer,  drank  his  wine,  and 
put  the  glass  on  the  table.  The  old  man  rose,  brought  a 
dried  fish,  put  it  on  the  threshold,  broke  it  with  a stick,  so 
as  to  soften  it,  and,  laying  it  with  his  shrivelled  hands  on 
his  one  blue  plate,  placed  it  on  the  table. 

“ I have  everything,  even  a lunch,  thank  God  ! ” he  said, 
proudly.  “Well,  how  is  it  with  Mosdv?”  the  old  man 
asked. 

Lukashka  told  him  how  the  under-officer  had  taken 
away  his  gun,  apparently  trying  to  get  the  old  man’s 
opinion  of  the  matter. 

“ Don’t  stand  out  for  the  gun,”  said  the  old  man.  “ If 
you  will  not  give  the  gun,  you  will  not  get  a reward.” 

“ But,  uncle ! What  reward  can  there  be  for  an  un- 
mounted Cossack  ? And  it  was  a fine  gun,  a Crimean 
one,  and  it  is  worth  eighty  roubles.” 

“ Oh,  let  it  go  ! I once  had  a quarrel  with  the  captain : 
he  wanted  my  horse.  ‘ Give  me  your  horse,’  he  said,  ‘ and 
I will  recommend  you  for  an  ensign.’  I did  not  give  it 
to  him,  and  so  nothing  came  of  it.” 

“ But  here,  uncle ! I shall  have  to  buy  a horse,  and 
they  say  I can’t  get  one  across  the  river  for  less  than  fifty 
roubles.  Mother  has  not  yet  sold  her  wine.” 

“ Ah,  we  did  not  worry  about  such  matters ! ” said  the 
old  man.  “ When  Uncle  Eroshka  was  of  your  age,  he  stole 
whole  herds  from  the  Nogays,  and  drove  them  across  the 
Terek.  Many  a time  I swapped  a first-class  horse  for  a 
bottle  of  brandy  or  for  a felt  mantle.” 

“ Why  did  you  give  it  so  cheap  ? ” said  Lukashka. 
“Fool,  fool,  Marka!”  the  old  man  said,  contemptu- 
ously. “ How  could  it  be  otherwise  ? That  is  what  you 
are  stealing  for,  — not  to  be  stingy.  I suppose  you  people 
have  not  even  seen  how  horses  are  driven.  Why  don’t 
you  talk  ? ” 


174 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ What  shall  I say,  uncle  ? ” said  Lukashka.  " We  are 
evidently  a different  lot.” 

"Fool,  fool,  Marka ! A different  lot!”  answered  the 
old  man,  mocking  the  young  Cossack.  “ At  your  age  I was 
no  such  Cossack.” 

“ How  was  it  ? ” asked  Lukashka. 

The  old  man  contemptuously  shook  his  head. 

"Uncle  Eroshka  was  simple,  he  was  not  stingy.  And 
so  the  whole  Chechnya  were  my  friends.  If  a chum  of 
mine  came  to  see  me,  I filled  him  full  of  brandy,  calmed 
him  down,  and  put  him  to  bed  with  me ; and  whenever 
I called  on  him  I took  some  candy  to  him  for  a present. 
That  is  the  way  people  used  to  act,  and  not  as  now ; the 
only  amusement  young  chaps  have  is  to  crack  seeds,  and 
spit  out  the  shells,”  the  old  man  concluded,  contemptu- 
ously, imitating  the  way  the  Cossacks  of  the  present  time 
crack  seeds  and  spit  out  the  shells. 

“ I know  that,”  said  Lukashka.  “ It  is  so  ! ” 

“ If  you  want  to  be  a fine  fellow,  you  must  be  a brave, 
and  not  a peasant.  And  it  is  only  a peasant  that  buys 
a horse  by  counting  out  the  money,  and  taking  the  horse 
for  it.” 

They  were  silent. 

“ But  it  is  dull  without  a horse,  uncle,  both  in  the  vil- 
lage and  at  the  cordon ; and  you  can't  go  anywhere  to 
have  some  fun.  They  are  all  such  timid  people.  Even 
Nazarka.  The  other  day  we  were  in  the  native  village ; 
Gir£y-khan  wanted  us  to  go  with  him  into  the  Nogay 
country  for  horses,  but  no  one  would  go ; how  could  I go 
myself  ? ” 

" And  what  about  uncle  ? Do  you  think  I am  dried 
up  ? No,  I am  not.  Give  me  a horse,  and  I will  go  at 
once  into  the  Nogay  country.” 

"What  is  the  use  of  wasting  words?”  said  Lukashka. 
" You  tell  me  whether  I may  trust  Gir^y-khan  ? He 
says,  4 Just  take  the  horses  as  far  as  the  Terek,  and  there 


THE  COSSACKS 


175 


I will  find  a place  for  them,  even  if  there  be  a whole 
drove.’  He  is  one  of  those  that  shave  their  heads,  so 
I do  not  know  whether  I can  believe  him.” 

“ You  may  believe  Girey-khan.  His  whole  family  are 
good  people ; his  father  was  a trusty  friend.  Only  take 
your  uncle’s  advice,  for  I will  not  advise  you  badly : 
make  him  take  an  oath,  then  it  will  be  all  right.  And 
when  you  go  with  him,  always  have  your  pistol  ready, 
particularly  when  you  divide  the  horses.  Once  I came 
very  near  being  killed  by  a Chechen,  when  I asked  him 
ten  roubles  for  a horse.  You  may  believe  him,  but  do 
not  lie  down  without  a gun.” 

Lukashka  listened  attentively  to  the  old  man. 

“ Uncle,  I have  heard  them  say  that  you  have  the 
burst-grass,”  he  said,  after  a moment’s  silence. 

“ I have  not  the  burst-grass,  but  I will  teach  you  how 
to  get  it : you  are  a good  fellow,  and  you  never  forget  the 
uncle.  Shall  I teach  you  ? ” 

“ Yes,  uncle.” 

“ You  know  the  turtle  ? Well,  she  is  a devil,  the  turtle 
is!” 

“ Of  course  I know  ! ” 

“ Find  her  nest,  and  make  a little  wattled  fence  around 
it,  so  that  she  cannot  get  through.  So  she  will  come, 
will  circle  around,  and  go  back  again ; she  will  find  the 
burst-grass,  will  bring  it,  and  break  the  fence  with  it. 
You  get  there  early  in  the  morning,  and  watch : where 
it  is  broken,  there  lies  the  burst-grass.  Pick  it  up,  and 
take  it  wherever  you  please.  There  will  be  no  lock  and 
no  wall  against  you  ! ” 

“ Have  you  tried  it,  uncle  ? ” 

“No,  I have  not,  but  good  people  have  told  me  of  it. 
I only  had  an  incantation.  I used  to  say  the  ‘ Hail  to 
Thee,’  whenever  I mounted  my  horse.  No  one  ever  killed 
me.” 

“ What  is  that  ‘ Hail  to  Thee,’  uncle  ? ” 


176 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ Don’t  you  know  it  ? What  a people  ! That’s  right, 
ask  uncle  for  it.  Listen  ! Say  after  me : 

“ ‘ Hail  to  Thee,  who  art  living  in  Zion. 

He  is  your  King. 

We  will  mount  the  horse. 

Sophonius  weeps. 

Zacharias  speaks. 

Father  Pilgrim 

Lover-over  of  men/ 

“ Lover-over  of  men,”  repeated  the  old  man.  “ Do  you 
know  it  ? Tell  it ! ” 

Lukashka  laughed. 

“ Well,  uncle,  is  this  why  you  were  not  killed  ? 
Maybe.” 

“ You  are  getting  too  clever.  You  learn  it,  and  repeat  it. 
It  will  do  you  no  harm.  When  you  sing  the  ‘ Pilgrim,’ 
you  are  all  right,”  and  the  old  man  laughed  himself. 
“ Still,  Lukashka,  don’t  go  to  the  Nogay  country,  that’s 
what  I tell  you  ! ” 

- Why  not  ? ” 

“ This  is  not  the  time,  and  you  are  not  the  people  for 
it.  You  Cossacks  have  turned  into  a dungheap.  And 
then  there  are  such  a lot  of  Russians  here ! They  will 
put  you  in  jail.  Truly,  give  it  up.  You  aro  not  the 
people  for  it ! Now,  Girchik  and  I — ” 

And  the  old  man  began  to  tell  his  endless  stories. 

But  Lukashka  looked  out  of  the  window. 

“ It  is  daylight  now,  uncle,”  he  interrupted  him.  “ It 
is  time  for  me  to  go;  come  and  see  us  sometime.” 

“ Christ  save  you ! I will  go  to  the  officer ; I have 
promised  to  take  him  out  hunting.  He  seems  to  be  a 
good  man.” 


XVII. 


From  Eroshka’s  Lukashka  went  home.  As  he  was 
going  back,  a damp  mist  had  risen  from  the  ground  and 
shrouded  the  village.  The  cattle  could  not  be  seen,  but 
were  heard  stirring  in  all  directions.  The  cocks  called 
each  other  more  frequently  and  more  noisily.  The  air 
grew  more  transparent,  and  people  were  getting  up. 
Coming  close  to  his  home,  Lukashka  made  out  the  fence, 
wet  from  the  mist,  the  porch  of  the  cabin,  and  the  open 
stall.  In  the  yard  the  sound  of  wood-chopping  could  be 
heard  though  the  mist.  Lukashka  walked  into  the  cabin. 
His  mother  was  up  and,  standing  in  front  of  the  oven, 
was  throwing  some  billets  of  wood  into  it.  His  young 
sister  was  still  asleep  on  the  bed. 

“ Well,  Lukashka,  have  you  had  your  spree  ? ” his 
mother  asked,  quietly.  “ Where  were  you  last  night  ? ” 

“ In  the  village,”  her  son  answered,  unwillingly,  getting 
his  musket  out  of  the  case,  and  examining  it. 

His  mother  shook  her  head. 

Having  put  some  powder  on  the  pan,  Lukashka  took 
down  the  pouch,  drew  from  it  several  empty  shells,  and 
began  to  fill  the  cartridges,  carefully  closing  them  up  with 
a small  bullet  wrapped  in  a rag.  He  pulled  out  the  filled 
cartridges  with  his  teeth,  and  examined  them,  and  then 
put  away  the  pouch. 

"Well,  mother,  I told  you  to  fix  the  bags.  Have  you 
mended  them  ? ” he  said. 

“ Of  course ! The  dumb  girl  mended  them  last  night. 
Is  it  time  for  you  to  go  back  to  the  cordon  ? I have  not 
had  a chance  to  see  you.” 


177 


178 


THE  COSSACKS 


“The  moment  I am  all  ready,  I have  to  go,”  replied 
Lukashka,  tying  up  the  powder-bag.  “ Where  is  the 
dumb  girl  ? Has  she  gone  out  ? ” 

“ I think  she  is  splitting  wood.  She  has  been  worry- 
ing about  you  all  the  time.  ‘ I shall  not  see  him/  she 
said.  She  pointed  with  her  hand  to  her  face,  and  clicked 
and  pressed  her  heart  with  her  hand,  as  much  as  to  say, 
‘ It  is  a pit y/  Shall  I call  her  ? She  has  understood  all 
about  the  abr£k.” 

“ Call  her,”  said  Lukashka.  “ I had  somewhere  some 
lard,  bring  it  to  me.  I must  grease  my  sabre.” 

The  old  woman  went  out,  and  a few  minutes  later 
Lukashka's  dumb  sister  walked  over  the  creaking  steps 
into  the  room.  She  was  six  years  older  than  her  brother, 
and  would  have  resembled  him  remarkably,  but  for  the 
dull  and  coarsely  changeable  expression  of  the  face, 
which  is  common  to  all  the  deaf  and  dumb.  Her  attire 
consisted  of  a coarse  shirt  in  patches ; her  feet  were  bare 
and  dirty ; on  her  head  she  wore  a blue  kerchief.  Her 
neck,  arms,  and  face  were  as  muscular  as  a peasant's. 
It  was  evident  from  her  garb,  and  from  everything,  that 
she  always  did  a hard  man's  labour.  She  brought  in  an 
armful  of  wood  which  she  threw  down  near  the  oven. 
Then  she  walked  up  to  her  brother,  with  a happy  smile, 
which  wrinkled  up  her  whole  face,  touched  him  by  the 
shoulder,  and  began  to  make  rapid  signs  to  him  with 
her  hands,  her  face,  and  her  whole  body. 

“ Well  done,  well  done  ! A fine  girl,  St^pka  ! ” replied 
her  brother,  shaking  his  head.  “ You  have  fixed  every- 
thing, and  mended  it,  you  are  a fine  girl!  Here  is 
something  for  it!”  He  took  out  of  his  pocket  two 
honey-cakes,  and  gave  them  to  her. 

The  dumb  girl  blushed,  and  made  a wild  noise,  to 
express  her  joy.  She  took  the  cakes,  and  began  more 
rapidly  still  to  make  the  signs,  pointing  often  in  one 
direction,  and  passing  her  stout  finger  over  her  brow  and 


THE  COSSACKS 


179 


face.  Lukashka  understood  her,  and  nodded,  smiling 
softly.  She  was  telling  him  that  her  brother  ought  to 
have  treated  the  girls,  and  that  the  girls  liked  him,  and 
that  the  girl  Maryanka  was  better  than  any  of  them, 
and  that  she  loved  him.  She  indicated  Maryanka  by 
pointing  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  her  yard,  and  to  her 
brows  and  face,  smacking  her  lips,  and  shaking  her  head. 
“ She  loves  you,”  she  said  by  pressing  her  hand  to  her 
breast,  kissing  her  hand,  and  as  though  hugging  some- 
thing. The  mother  returned  to  the  room,  and  when  she 
saw  what  the  dumb  girl  was  saying  she  smiled  and 
shook  her  head.  The  dumb  girl  showed  her  the  honey- 
cakes,  and  again  shouted  for  joy. 

“ I told  Ulitka  the  other  day  that  I would  send  a 
go-between,”  said  the  mother.  “ She  received  my  remarks 
kindly.” 

Lukashka  looked  silently  at  his  mother. 

“ But,  mother,  you  must  take  down  the  wine  ! I need 
a horse.” 

“ I will  take  it  down  when  I have  time.  I will  fix 
the  casks/’  said  the  mother,  obviously  not  wishing  to 
have  her  son  meddle  with  domestic  affairs.  “ When  you 
go,”  said  the  old  woman  to  her  son,  “ take  along  the  bag 
in  the  vestibule.  I have  borrowed  from  people  to  let 
you  have  something  at  the  cordon.  Or  shall  I put  it 
in  the  saddle-bag  ? ” 

“Very  well,”  replied  Lukashka.  “If  Gir£y-khan  from 
across  the  river  comes  to  see  me,  send  him  to  the  cordon, 
for  they  won’t  let  me  off  for  quite  awhile.  I have  some 
business  with  him.” 

He  was  getting  ready. 

“ I will  send  him,  Lukashka,  I will.  So  you  have  been 
celebrating  at  Yamka’s,  I suppose  ? ” said  the  old  woman. 
“ When  I got  up  in  the  night  to  attend  to  the  cattle,  I 
thought  I heard  your  voice  singing.” 

Lukashka  did  not  reply.  He  walked  out  into  the 


180 


THE  COSSACKS 


vestibule,  slung  the  bags  across  his  shoulder,  tucked 
up  his  coat,  picked  up  the  gun,  and  stopped  on  the 
threshold. 

“ Good-bye,  mother ! ” he  said  to  her,  closing  the  gate 
after  him.  “ Send  me  a keg  with  Nazarka.  I have 
promised  the  boys ; he  will  come  to  see  you.” 

“ Christ  save  you,  Lukash ka ! God  be  with  you!  I 
will  send  you,  from  the  new  cask,”  answered  the  old 
woman,  walking  up  to  the  fence.  “ Listen  to  what 
I have  to  say,”  she  added,  bending  over  the  fence. 

The  Cossack  stopped. 

“ You  have  been  celebrating  here ! Well,  God  be 
praised  ! Why  is  a young  man  not  to  have  a good  time  ? 
Well,  God  has  granted  you  a piece  of  good  luck.  But, 
down  there,  look  out,  my  son,  don’t  do  it  — Keep  on 
the  good  side  of  the  officer  ! You  must  not  do  otherwise ! 
I will  sell  the  wine,  and  will  save  the  money  for  the 
horse,  and  will  get  you  the  girl  in  marriage.” 

“ Very  well,  very  well!”  said  the  son,  frowning. 

The  dumb  girl  shouted  to  attract  his  attention.  She 
pointed  to  her  head  and  hand,  which  meant,  “ A shaven 
head,  — a Chechen.”  Then,  frowning,  she  did  as  though 
she  aimed  with  a gun,  cried  out,  or  rather  crowed,  shaking 
her  head.  She  was  telling  Lukashka  to  kill  another 
Chechen. 

Lukashka  understood  her.  He  smiled,  and  with  light 
steps,  holding  the  gun  on  his  back,  below  the  felt  mantle, 
disappeared  in  the  dense  mist. 

The  old  woman  stood  awhile  silently  at  the  gate,  then 
returned  to  the  hut,  and  at  once  went  to  work. 


XVIII. 


Lukashka  went  to  the  cordon.  At  the  same  time 
Uncle  Eroshka  whistled  to  his  dogs,  and,  climbing  across 
the  fence,  went  by  back  ways  to  Olenin’s  lodging.  He 
did  not  like  to  meet  women  when  he  went  out  hunting. 
Olenin  was  still  asleep,  and  Vanyusha,  who  was  awake, 
but  not  yet  up,  was  considering  whether  it  was  time  or 
not,  when  Eroshka,  with  gun  on  his  back,  and  in  com- 
plete hunter’s  trappings,  opened  the  door. 

“ Switches  ! ” he  cried,  in  his  bass  voice.  “ To  arms  ! 
The  Chechens  have  come!  Ivan!  Get  the  samovar 
ready  for  your  master!  You,  too,  get  up!  Lively!” 
cried  the  old  man.  “ That’s  the  way  with  us,  my  good 
man ! See,  the  girls  are  all  up ! Look  through  the 
window,  look ! She  is  going  for  water,  and  you  are  still 
asleep.” 

Olenin  awoke,  and  leaped  up.  And  how  refreshed  and 
merry  he  felt  at  the  sight  of  the  old  man,  and  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice ! 

“ Lively  ! Lively,  Vanyusha  ! ” he  shouted. 

“ That  is  the  way  you  go  out  hunting ! People  are 
getting  their  breakfast,  and  you  are  asleep.  Lyam ! 
Come  here ! ” he  called  to  his  dog. 

“ Is  your  gun  ready  ? ” he  shouted,  as  though  there 
were  a whole  crowd  in  the  room. 

“ Well,  I am  guilty,  but  what  is  to  be  done  ? Powder, 
Vanyusha ! And  the  wads  ! ” said  Olenin. 

“ The  fine ! ” cried  the  old  man. 

“ Du  te  voulez-vous  ? ” said  Vanyusha,  grinning. 

181 


182 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ You  are  not  one  of  us ! You  are  not  talking  in  our 
language,  you  devil ! ” the  old  man  cried  to  him,  showing 
the  roots  of  his  teeth. 

“A  first  offence  is  generally  forgiven/’  joked  Olenin, 
pulling  on  his  big  boots. 

“ The  first  offence  is  forgiven,”  answered  Eroshka,  “but 
if  you  sleep  late  the  next  time,  your  fine  will  be  a bucket 
of  red  wine.  When  it  gets  warmer,  you  can’t  find  the 
stags.” 

“ But  even  if  wTe  find  them,  they  are  more  intelligent 
than  we,”  said  Olenin,  repeating  the  old  man’s  words 
which  he  had  said  the  evening  before.  “ You  cannot 
cheat  them.” 

“ Laugh  all  you  please  ! First  kill  one,  and  then  talk. 
Come,  now,  lively ! Look  there,  your  landlord  is  coming 
to  see  you,”  said  Eroshka,  looking  out  of  the  window. 
“Just  see  how  he  is  dressed  up!  He  has  put  on  a new 
coat  so  as  to  let  you  know  that  he  is  an  officer.  Oh, 
what  a people  ! What  a people  ! ” 

And  indeed,  Vanyusha  announced  to  the  master  that 
the  landlord  wanted  to  see  him. 

“ L argent”  he  said,  significantly,  to  prepare  his  master 
for  the  meaning  of  the  ensign’s  visit.  He  was  soon  fol- 
lowed by  the  ensign  himself,  who  entered  the  room  swag- 
gering, and  with  a smile  on  his  face,  and  wished  Olenin  a 
pleasant  Sunday.  He  wore  a new  mantle,  with  the 
shoulder-straps  of  an  officer,  and  polished  boots,  which  is 
a rarity  among  Cossacks. 

The  ensign,  Ilya  Vasilevich,  was  an  educated  Cossack, 
who  had  been  in  Russia,  and  was  a school  teacher ; but 
above  all  he  was  noble.  He  wanted  to  appear  noble,  but 
under  the  monstrous  veneer  of  his  glibness,  self-confidence, 
and  preposterous  speech  one  could  not  help  perceiving  the 
same  Uncle  Eroshka.  This  was  also  evident  from  his  sun- 
burnt face,  from  his  hands,  and  red  nose.  Olenin  invited 
him  to  sit  down. 


THE  COSSACKS 


183 


“ Good  morning,  Father  Ilya  Vasilevich  ! ” said  Eroshka, 
arising,  and,  as  Olenin  thought,  making  an  ironically  low 
bow. 

“ Good  morning,  uncle  ! Are  you  ' already  here  ? ” re- 
plied the  ensign,  carelessly  nodding  his  head  to  him. 

The  ensign  was  a man  of  about  forty  years  of  age,  with 
a gray,  wedge-shaped  beard,  lean,  slender,  and  handsome, 
and  still  very  well  preserved  for  his  forty  years.  When 
he  came  to  see  Olenin,  he  was  obviously  afraid  lest  he 
should  be  taken  for  a common  Cossack,  so  he  wanted  to 
make  him  feel  his  importance  right  away. 

“ This  is  our  Egyptian  Nimrod,”  he  said,  turning  with  a 
self-satisfied  smile  to  Olenin,  and  pointing  to  the  old  man. 
“ A hunter  before  the  Lord.  He  is  a great  hand  at  every- 
thing. Have  you  made  his  acquaintance  already  ? ” 

Uncle  Eroshka,  looking  at  his  feet,  which  were  wrapped 
in  wet  buckskins,  thoughtfully  shook  his  head,  as  though 
wondering  at  the  ensign’s  glibness  and  learning,  and  mum- 
bled to  himself,  “ Gyptian  Nimbrod  ! What  a name  ! ” 

“ Yes,  we  want  to  go  hunting,”  said  OUnin. 

“ That  is  right,”  remarked  the  ensign,  “ but  I have  a 
little  business  with  you.” 

“ What  is  it  you  wish  ? ” 

“ Whereas  you  be  a nobleman,”  began  the  ensign,  “ and 
whereas  I am  able  to  understand  myself  as  also  having 
the  rank  of  an  officer,  and  we  consequently  may  treat- 
each  other  as  of  equal  rank,  just  as  with  all  noblemen  ” 
(he  stopped,  and  with  a smile  glanced  upon  the  old  man 
and  upon  Olenin)  — “ But  if  you  should  have  the  desire, 

in  accordance  with  my  agreement,  for  my  wife  being  a 
foolish  woman,  in  our  condition  of  life,  she  could  not  in 
the  present  time  completely  grasp  your  words  of  yester- 
day’s date.  And  thus  my  lodgings  might  have  gone  to 
the  adjutant  of  the  regiment  for  six  roubles,  without  the 
stable,  and,  as  being  a nobleman,  I can  always  remove 
one  for  gratis.  And  whereas  you  should  wish,  I,  being 


184 


THE  COSSACKS 


myself  of  the  rank  an  officer,  can  personally  come  to  an 
agreement  with  you,  and  as  an  inhabitant  of  this  country, 
not  as  is  the  habit,  I am  able  to  comply  with  all  the 
points  of  the  agreement  — ” 

“ He  talks  clearly,”  mumbled  the  old  man. 

The  ensign  talked  long  in  the  same  strain.  Of  this,  all 
Olenin  was  able  to  make  out,  not  without  great  difficulty, 
was  that  the  ensign  wanted  to  get  six  roubles  a month  for 
his  quarters.  He  gladly  complied  with  his  wish,  and 
offered  his  guest  a glass  of  tea.  The  ensign  declined  it. 

“ According  to  our  foolish  custom,”  he  said,  “ we  regard 
it  almost  a sin  to  use  a general  glass.  Though,  in  accord- 
ance with  my  education,  I might  understand  it ; my  wife, 
in  her  human  weakness  — ” 

“ Well,  will  you  have  a glass  of  tea  ? ” 

“ If  you  will  permit  me,  I will  bring  my  own  glass,  my 
special  glass,”  answered  the  ensign,  and  walked  out  on 
the  porch.  “ Fetch  me  a glass!”  he  shouted. 

A few  minutes  later  the  door  opened,  and  a young  sun- 
burnt hand,  in  a rose-coloured  sleeve,  holding  a glass,  was 
stretched  out  through  the  door.  The  ensign  walked  up, 
took  the  glass,  and  said  something  in  a whisper  to  his 
daughter.  Olenin  filled  the  special  glass  for  the  ensign, 
and  a general  glass  for  Eroshka. 

“ However,  I do  not  wish  to  keep  you,”  said  the  ensign, 
burning  his  lips  in  his  haste  to  finish  his  glass.  “ I,  so  to 
say,  have  myself  a great  passion  for  fishing,  and  I am 
here  only  on  vacation,  so  to  say,  on  a recreation  from 
my  duties.  I also  have  a desire  to  try  my  luck,  and  to 
see  whether  the  ‘ Gifts  of  T4rek  ’ 1 will  not  fall  to  my  lot. 
I hope  you  will  visit  me  sometime,  to  drink  the  ‘ family  ’ 
cup,  according  to  our  village  custom,”  he  added. 

The  ensign  bowed,  pressed  Offinin’s  hand,  and  went  out. 
As  Offinin  was  getting  ready  to  go,  he  heard  the  ensign’s 
commanding  voice  giving  orders  to  the  members  of  his 
1 Poem  by  Lermontov. 


THE  COSSACKS 


185 


family.  A few  minutes  later  Olenin  saw  the  ensign  in 
trousers  rolled  up  over  his  knees  and  in  a torn  half-coat, 
with  a net  across  his  shoulder,  walking  past  the  window. 

“The  rascal !”  said  Uncle  Eroshka,  finishing  his  tea 
from  the  general  glass.  “ Well,  will  you  really  pay  him 
six  roubles?  Who  has  ever  heard  the  like?  You  may 
have  the  best  cabin  in  the  village  for  two  roubles.  What 
a beast ! Why,  I will  let  you  have  mine  for  three 
roubles.” 

“ No,  I had  better  remain  here,”  said  Olenin. 

“Six  roubles!  It  is  evidently  fool’s  money  you  have! 
Pshaw,”  said  the  old  man.  “ Fetch  the  red  wine,  Ivan  ! ” 

Having  taken  a snack  and  drunk  some  brandy  for  the 
journey,  Olenin  and  the  old  man  went  out  into  the  street, 
at  about  eight  o’clock. 

At  the  gate  they  met  a cart  all  hitched  up.  Mary&nka, 
her  head  wrapped  down  to  her  eyes  with  a white  kerchief, 
wearing  a half-coat  over  her  shirt,  in  boots,  and  holding  a 
long  switch  in  her  hands,  was  pulling  the  oxen  by  a rope 
that  was  attached  to  their  horns. 

“ Motherkin,”  said  the  old  man,  making  a motion  as 
though  he  wanted  to  hug  her. 

Maryanka  raised  her  switch  at  him,  and  gave  them 
both  a merry  glance  with  her  beautiful  eyes. 

014nin  felt  even  more  cheerful  than  before. 

“ Well,  come ! Come  on  ! ” he  said,  shouldering  his  gun, 
and  feeling  the  girl’s  eyes  resting  upon  him. 

“ Get  up  ! ” Maryanka’s  voice  rang  out  behind  them,  and 
soon  after  the  moving  cart  was  heard  to  creak. 

As  long  as  the  road  led  back  of  the  houses  of  the  vil- 
lage, over  pastures,  Erdshka  kept  talking.  He  could  not 
forget  the  ensign,  and  he  did  not  stop  abusing  him. 

“ But  why  are  you  so  angry  at  him  ? ” asked  Olenin. 

“ He  is  stingy ! I do  not  like  him,”  answered  the  old 
man.  “ When  he  dies,  everything  will  be  left.  For  whom 
is  he  hoarding  ? He  has  put  up  two  buildings.  A second 


186 


THE  COSSACKS 


garden  he  got  by  a lawsuit  from  his  brother.  And  he  is 
a great  hand  at  writing  documents  ! They  come  to  him 
from  other  villages  to  get  their  documents  written  by  him. 
And  as  he  writes,  so  it  happens.  He  always  strikes  it 
right.  For  whom  is  he  hoarding?  He  has  but  one  boy 
and  one  girl,  and  when  she  is  married,  there  will  be 
nobody  left.” 

“ Then  he  is  laying  up  for  the  dowry,”  said  Olenin. 

“ What  dowry  ? They  are  anxious  to  get  the  girl,  — 
she  is  a fine  girl.  He  is  such  a devil  that  he  wants  to 
marry  her  to  a rich  man.  He  wants  to  skin  him  out  of  a 
big  marriage  gift.  Luka  is  a Cossack ; he  is  a neighbour 
of  mine  and  my  nephew ; a fine  chap  who  has  killed  a 
Chechen,  and  they  have  tried  to  get  her  for  him,  but  he 
will  not  let  him  have  her.  He  finds  one  excuse  after 
another.  ‘ The  girl  is  too  young/  he  says.  But  I know 
what  he  is  thinking  about.  He  wants  them  to  come  with 
gifts.  He  is  acting  shamefully  about  that  girl.  But 
Luk&shka  will  get  her  in  the  end,  for  he  is  the  first  Cos- 
sack in  the  village,  a brave ; he  killed  an  abrdk,  and  they 
will  give  him  a cross.” 

“ What  is  that  now  ? As  I was  walking  in  the  yard  last 
night,  I saw  my  landlady’s  daughter  kissing  a Cossack,” 
said  Olenin. 

“ You  are  bragging,”  shouted  the  old  man,  stopping. 

“ Upon  my  word!”  said  Olenin. 

“ A woman  is  a devil,”  said  Erdshka,  pensively, 
“ What  kind  of  a Cossack  was  it  ? ” 

“ I did  not  see.” 

“ What  was  the  colour  of  the  hair  on  his  cap  1 
White?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And  a red  coat  ? About  your  size  ? ” 

“ No,  a little  taller.” 

“ That’s  he  ! ” Erdshka  roared.  “ That’s  he,  my  Mdrka. 
I call  him  M^rka  for  fun.  That’s  he.  I love  him ! I 


THE  COSSACKS 


187 


was  just  like  him,  my  father.  What  is  the  use  asking 
them  ? My  mistress  used  to  sleep  with  her  mother  and 
sister-in-law,  but  I climbed  in  all  the  same.  She  used  to 
live  up-stairs.  Her  mother  was  a witch,  a devil : she 
hated  me  dreadfully.  I used  to  come  with  my  chum, 
they  called  him  Girchik.  I would  walk  up  under  the 
window,  climb  on  his  shoulders,  raise  the  window,  and 
grope  my  way  in.  She  slept  on  a bench.  Once  I awak- 
ened her.  She  began  to  groan,  for  she  did  not  recognize 
me.  ‘ Who  is  there  ? ’ But  I did  not  dare  answer.  Her 
mother  was  already  stirring.  I took  off  my  cap,  and 
gagged  her  with  it : then  she  recognized  me  by  the  border 
of  my  cap.  She  leaped  up  from  her  bed.  At  other  times, 
I did  not  need  any  of  these  stratagems.  And  she  would 
bring  me  boiled  cream,  and  grapes,  and  everything,”  added 
Eroshka,  who  explained  everything  in  a practical  manner. 
“ And  she  was  not  the  only  one.  It  was  a fine  life  I led.” 

“ And  now  ? ” 

“ Let  us  follow  the  dog ! When  a pheasant  alights  on 
a tree,  shoot ! ” 

“ Would  you  court  Maryanka  ? ” 

“ You  watch  the  dogs ! I will  tell  you  about  it  in  the 
evening,”  said  the  old  man,  pointing  to  his  favourite  dog, 
Lyam. 

They  grew  silent.  Having  walked  about  one  hundred 
steps,  talking  now  and  then,  the  old  man  stopped  once 
more  and  pointed  to  a stick  that  was  lying  across  the 
path. 

“ What  do  you  think  about  it  ? ” he  said.  “ Do  you 
think  it  is  lying  right  ? No,  the  stick  is  lying  badly.” 

“ What  is  there  bad  in  it  ? ” 

He  smiled. 

“ You  do  not  know  anything.  Listen  to  me  ! When 
a stick  lies  like  that,  you  must  not  step  over  it,  but  walk 
around  it,  or  throw  the  stick  away,  and  say  the  prayer, 
‘ To  the  Father  and  the  Son  and  the  Holy  Ghost/  and 


188 


THE  COSSACKS 


then  you  may  go  with  God's  aid.  It  will  not  hurt  you 
then.  Old  people  used  to  tell  me  that." 

“ What  nonsense  ! ” said  Olenin.  “ Tell  me  rather  about 
Mary^nka.  Well,  so  she  keeps  company  with  Lu- 
kashka  ? ” 

“ Sh ! Now  keep  quiet,"  the  old  man  again  interrupted 
the  conversation,  in  a whisper.  “ Just  listen.  We  will 
go  around  through  the  forest." 

And  the  old  man,  stepping  inaudibly  in  his  buckskins, 
walked  ahead  on  a narrow  path  which  entered  a dense, 
wild,  overgrown  forest.  He  looked  now  and  then,  frown- 
ingly,  back  upon  Olenin,  who  produced  a rustling  noise 
and  a thud  with  his  big  boots,  and,  carrying  his  gun  care- 
lessly, several  times  caught  in  the  branches  of  the  trees 
that  hung  over  the  path. 

“ Don’t  make  any  noise ! Go  more  softly,  soldier  ! " he 
said  to  him,  angrily,  in  a whisper. 

The  air  felt  as  though  the  sun  were  up.  The  mist  was 
beginning  to  disperse,  but  it  still  enveloped  the  tops  of  the 
trees.  The  forest  seemed  to  be  terribly  high.  The  view 
changed  at  every  step  forward.  What  seemed  to  be  a 
tree,  turned  out  to  be  a bush ; the  reeds  looked  like  trees. 


XIX. 


The  mist  had  lifted,  so  that  the  moist  reed  thatches 
could  be  seen,  and  now  was  changed  into  dew  that  damp- 
ened the  road  and  the  grass  near  the  fences.  The  smoke 
rose  in  clouds  from  the  chimneys.  The  people  were  leav- 
ing the  village,  some  to  go  to  their  work,  others  to  the 
river,  and  others  again  to  the  cordon.  The  hunters 
walked  together  over  the  damp,  grass-grown  path.  The 
dogs  ran,  wagging  their  tails  and  looking  at  their  master, 
on  both  sides  of  them.  Millions  of  gnats  hovered  in  the 
air,  and  pursued  the  hunters,  covering  their  backs,  eyes, 
and  hands.  The  air  was  fragrant  with  grass  and  the 
dampness  of  the  woods.  Oldnin  continually  looked  back 
at  the  ox-cart,  in  which  Maryan^a  sat,  urging  on  the  oxen 
with  a stick. 

Everything  was  quiet.  The  sounds  of  the  village, 
audible  before,  no  longer  reached  the  hunters ; only  the 
dogs  crashed  through  the  thorn  bushes,  and  now  and  then 
a bird  uttered  a sound.  Olenin  knew  that  the  woods 
were  dangerous,  that  abreks  were  always  concealed  in 
such  places.  He  also  knew  that  for  a man  on  foot  a gun 
was  a great  protection  in  the  forest.  Not  that  he  was 
afraid,  but  he  felt  that  any  other  person  would  feel  afraid  ; 
and,  looking  with  strained  attention  into  the  misty,  damp 
forest,  and  listening  to  the  occasional  faint  sounds,  he 
fingered  his  gun  and  experienced  a novel  and  pleasant 
sensation. 

Uncle  Eroshka  walked  ahead  and  stopped  at  every 
189 


190 


THE  COSSACKS 


puddle,  where  there  were  double  tracks  of  animals;  he 
examined  them  carefully  and  showed  them  to  Olenin. 
He  said  very  little ; occasionally  he  made  some  remark  in 
a whisper.  The  road  over  which  they  were  walking  was 
rutted  by  cart-wheels,  and  thickly  overgrown  with  grass. 
The  cork-elm  and  plane-tree  forest  on  both  sides  of  the 
road  was  so  dense  and  so  choked  with  underbrush  that  it 
was  impossible  to  look  through  it.  Nearly  every  tree  was 
thickly  overgrown  to  its  top  with  wild  grape-vines ; and 
below,  grew  thick  blackthorn  bushes.  Every  small  clear- 
ing was  overrun  with  blackberry  vines  and  reeds  with 
their  gray,  wavy  tops.  Here  and  there  large  animal 
tracks  and  small  tunnelled  trails  of  pheasants  led  from 
the  road  into  the  thicket.  The  rankness  of  the  vegetation 
in  this  forest,  which  had  not  been  tracked  by  cattle, 
greatly  impressed  Olenin  at  every  step  he  took,  for  he  had 
never  seen  anything  like  it.  This  forest,  the  peril,  the  old 
man  with  his  mysterious  whisper,  Maryanka  with  her 
strong,  stately  figure,  and  the  mountains,  — all  this 
appeared  to  Olenin  like  a dream. 

“ The  dog  has  treed  a pheasant,”  whispered  the  old 
man,  looking  around,  and  pulling  his  cap  over  his  face. 
“ Hide  your  mug,  it  is  a pheasant ! ” He  angrily  waved 
his  hand  to  Olenin  and  crept  on,  almost  on  his  hands  and 
knees.  “ It  does  not  like  a man’s  mug.” 

Olenin  was  some  distance  behind  him,  when  the  old 
man  stopped  and  began  to  examine  the  tree.  A cock 
called  from  the  tree  to  the  dog,  which  was  barking  at 
him,  and  Olenin  noticed  the  pheasant.  But  just  then  a 
report,  like  a cannon,  rang  out  from  Eroshka’s  monstrous 
gun,  and  the  cock  flew  up,  dropping  some  of  his  feathers, 
and  fell  to  the  ground.  Walking  up  to  the  old  man, 
016nin  scared  up  another.  Putting  his  gun  to  his  shoul- 
der, he  aimed  and  fired.  The  pheasant  circled  upwards 
and  then,  catching  in  the  branches,  fell  like  a stone  into 
the  thicket 


THE  COSSACKS 


191 


“ You  are  a brick ! ” cried  the  old  man,  who  could  not 
shoot  a bird  on  the  wing,  and  smiled. 

They  picked  up  the  pheasants  and  went  on.  Excited 
by  the  motion  and  by  the  praise,  Olenin  kept  up  a con- 
versation with  the  old  man. 

“ Wait ! We  will  go  in  this  direction/'  the  old  man 
interrupted  him.  “ I saw  a deer  trail  here  yesterday.” 

Having  turned  into  the  thicket  and  gone  some  three 
hundred  paces,  they  came  to  a clearing  that  was  over- 
grown with  reeds,  and  in  places  overflowed  with  water. 
Olenin  kept  falling  behind  the  old  huntsman,  and  suddenly 
Uncle  Erdshka  crouched,  about  twenty  steps  in  front  of 
him,  excitedly  nodding  his  head  and  waving  his  hand. 
When  Olenin  came  up  to  him,  he  saw  the  track  of  a 
man’s  feet,  to  which  the  old  man  was  pointing. 

“ You  see  ?” 

“ I do.  What  of  it  ? ” said  Oldnin,  trying  to  speak  as 
calmly  as  possible.  “ It  is  a man’s  track.” 

Involuntarily  the  thought  of  Cooper’s  “ Pathfinder  ” and 
of  abrdks  flashed  through  his  head,  and  when  he  saw  the 
mysterious  manner  in  which  the  old  man  walked  ahead, 
he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  ask  him  any  questions, 
and  was  in  doubt  whether  it  was  the  peril  or  the  hunt 
which  caused  this  mystery. 

“ No,  that  is  my  track,”  the  old  man  answered,  simply, 
and  pointed  to  the  grass,  underneath  which  a faint  ani- 
mal track  was  visible. 

The  old  man  went  ahead.  Olenin  did  not  fall  back. 
Having  walked  about  twenty  paces,  they  went  down-hill 
and  came  to  a spreading  pear-tree  in  a thicket ; under- 
neath it  the  earth  was  black,  and  fresh  animal  dung  lay 
upon  it. 

The  place  was  all  covered  with  grape-vines,  and  resem- 
bled a covered  cosy  arbour,  dark  and  cool. 

“ He  has  been  here  this  morning,”  said  the  old  man, 
sighing.  “ The  lair  is  still  fresh  and  steaming.” 


192 


THE  COSSACKS 


Suddenly  a mighty  crash  was  heard  in  the  forest,  about 
ten  paces  from  them.  Both  of  them  were  startled  and 
grasped  their  guns,  but  they  could  not  see  anything ; they 
could  only  hear  the  breaking  of  branches.  The  swift, 
even  thud  of  a gallop  could  be  heard  for  a moment ; then 
the  crackling  passed  into  a hollow  din,  farther  and  farther 
away,  and  reechoing  farther  and  farther  through  the  quiet 
forest.  014nin  felt  as  though  something  was  breaking  in 
his  heart.  He  gazed  in  vain  into  the  green  thicket,  and 
finally  looked  at  the  old  man.  Uncle  Erdshka  stood  im- 
movable, pressing  his  gun  to  his  chest;  his  cap  was 
poised  on  the  back  of  his  head ; his  eyes  were  burning 
with  an  uncommon  brilliancy;  and  his  mouth,  showing 
its  well-worn  yellow  teeth,  remained  open,  as  though 
petrified. 

“ A horned  stag  ! ” he  said.  He  threw  his  gun  down  in 
despair,  and  began  to  pull  his  gray  beard.  “ Here  he 
stood  ! I ought  to  have  walked  up  from  the  path  ! Fool ! 
Fool ! ” and  he  tugged  his  beard  in  anger.  “ Fool ! Hog  ! ” 
he  repeated,  painfully  pulling  his  beard. 

It  looked  as  though  something  were  flying  by,  above 
the  forest,  in  the  mist.  Farther  and  farther  away  re- 
sounded the  gallop  of  the  stag. 

Oldnin  and  the  old  man  returned  at  twilight.  He  was 
weary,  hungry,  and  full  of  strength.  The  dinner  was 
ready.  He  ate  and  drank  with  the  old  man,  and  feeling 
warm  and  gay,  he  walked  out  on  the  porch.  Again  the 
mountains  in  the  west  rose  before  his  eyes.  Again  the 
old  man  told  his , endless  stories  about  hunting,  about 
abreks,  and  about  mistresses,  — about  a careless,  adventur- 
ous life.  Again  fair  Maryanka  walked  in  and  out,  and 
crossed  the  yard.  Under  her  shirt  was  clearly  outlined 
the  powerful,  virgin  body  of  the  fair  maiden. 


XX. 


On  the  following  day  Olenin  went  without  the  old  man 
to  the  place  where  they  had  scared  up  the  stag.  Instead 
of  going  through  the  gate,  he  climbed  over  a hedge  of 
brambles,  just  as  everybody  else  in  the  village  would  do. 
He  had  not  yet  got  all  the  thorns  out  of  his  mantle,  when 
his  dog,  which  had  run  ahead,  startled  two  pheasants.  The 
moment  he  entered  into  the  buckthorn  thicket,  pheasants 
flew  up  at  every  step.  (The  old  man  had  not  shown  him 
this  place  the  day  before,  intending  to  hunt  there  with 
snares.)  014nin  killed  five  pheasants  out  of  twelve  shots, 
and,  crawling  for  them  under  the  thorn  bushes,  grew  so 
fatigued  that  the  perspiration  trickled  down  his  face  in 
streams.  He  called  back  his  dog,  uncocked  his  gun,  put 
the  bullets  on  the  shot,  and,  warding  off  the  gnats  with 
the  sleeves  of  his  mantle,  slowly  walked  toward  the  place 
where  he  had  been  the  day  before.  It  was,  however, 
impossible  to  keep  back  the  dog,  which  ran  upon  trails  on 
the  path,  and  he  killed  two  more  pheasants ; he  lost  his 
time  with  them,  and  did  not  come  to  the  familiar  spot 
before  midday. 

It  was  a very  clear,  quiet,  warm  day.  The  morning 
dampness  was  dried  up  even  in  the  forest,  and  millions 
of  gnats  literally  covered  his  face,  back,  and  hands.  The 
black  dog  looked  gray  under  a covering  of  gnats.  The 
mantle,  through  which  the  gnats  thrust  their  stings,  looked 
just  as  gray.  Olenin  wanted  to  run  away  from  the  pests ; 
he  even  thought  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  pass  a 
summer  in  the  village.  He  started  homewards ; but  con- 

193 


194 


THE  COSSACKS 


sidering  that  people  lived  there  in  spite  of  the  gnats,  he 
determined  to  suffer,  and  patiently  endured  the  stings. 
Strange  to  say,  toward  midday  the  sensation  began  to  be 
agreeable  to  him.  It  even  seemed  to  him  that  if  it  were 
not  for  that  atmosphere  of  the  gnats  which  surrounded  him, 
and  for  that  paste  of  gnats,  which  under  his  hand  was 
smeared  over  his  whole  perspiring  face,  and  for  that  dis- 
quieting burning  over  his  whole  body,  the  forest  of  that 
region  would  lose  its  character  and  charm  for  him.  These 
myriads  of  insects  were  so  appropriate  to  this  wild,  des- 
perately rich  vegetation,  to  this  endless  mass  of  beasts 
and  birds  that  filled  the  woods,  to  this  green  foliage,  to 
this  redolent,  warm  air,  to  these  runlets  of  muddy  water 
which  oozed  on  all  sides  from  the  T^rek,  and  which 
bubbled  somewhere  under  the  overhanging  branches,  that 
that  which  before  had  appeared  to  him  terrible  and 
unbearable,  now  gave  him  pleasure. 

Having  passed  by  the  spot  where  on  the  previous  day 
they  had  seen  the  stag,  and  not  meeting  anything  there, 
he  wanted  to  take  a rest.  The  sun  stood  straight  over 
the  forest,  and  its  direct  rays  burnt  his  back  and  head 
every  time  he  walked  out  on  a clearing  or  into  the  road. 
Seven  heavy  pheasants  weighed  heavily  on  the  small  of 
his  back.  He  found  the  stag’s  tracks  of  the  previous 
day,  crawled  under  the  bush  in  the  thicket  where  the 
stag  had  been  lying  the  day  before,  and  lay  down  near 
the  lair.  He  examined  the  dark  foliage  all  around  him, 
the  damp  place,  the  dung  of  the  previous  day,  the  imprint 
of  the  stag’s  knees,  a clump  of  black  earth  which  the 
stag  had  kicked  up,  and  his  own  tracks  of  the  day  before. 
He  felt  cool  and  comfortable;  he  thought  of  nothing, 
wished  for  nothing. 

And  suddenly  he  was  overcome  by  such  a strange  feel- 
ing of  causeless  happiness  and  love  for  everything  that, 
following  an  old  boyish  habit,  he  began  to  cross  himself 
and  to  thank  somebody  for  something.  It  suddenly 


THE  COSSACKS 


195 


passed  through  his  mind  with  extraordinary  clearness 
that  he,  Dmitri  Olenin,  a being  apart  from  all  other 
beings,  was  sitting  all  alone,  God  knew  where,  in  the  very 
spot  where  there  used  to  live  a stag,  a beautiful  old  stag 
which,  perhaps,  had  never  before  seen  a man,  and  in  a 
place  where,  perhaps,  no  one  had  been  sitting  before,  or 
thinking  about  the  same  matter. 

“ I am  sitting  here,  and  all  about  me  are  young  and  old 
trees,  and  one  of  these  is  festooned  with  wild  grape-vines ; 
near  me  pheasants  are  fluttering,  driving  each  other  from 
their  hiding-places,  and  probably  scenting  their  dead 
brothers.”  He  put  his  fingers  on  his  pheasants,  examined 
them,  and  wiped  his  hand,  which  was  stained  by  their 
warm  blood,  against  his  mantle.  “ The  jackals  are  prob- 
ably scenting  them,  and  with  dissatisfied  faces  turning 
away  in  the  opposite  direction.  The  gnats  fly  all  around 
me,  passing  by  leaves  that  appear  to  them  like  so  many 
huge  islands,  and  they  hover  in  the  air  and  buzz : one, 
two,  three,  four,  one  hundred,  one  thousand,  a million 
gnats,  and  all  of  them  buzz  something,  for  some  reason, 
all  about  me,  and  every  one  of  them  is  just  such  a Dmitri 
Olenin,  apart  from  all  the  rest,  as  I am.”  He  had  a 
clear  idea  of  what  the  gnats  were  thinking  and  buzzing. 
“ Here,  boys ! Here  is  one  whom  we  can  eat,”  they 
buzzed,  and  clung  to  him.  And  it  became  clear  to  him 
that  he  was  not  at  all  a Eussian  nobleman,  a member 
of  Moscow  society,  a friend  and  relative  of  this  or  that 
person,  but  simply  just  such  a gnat,  or  pheasant,  or  stag, 
as  those  that  now  were  living  all  around  him.  “ I shall 
live  and  die,  just  like  them,  like  Uncle  Eroshka.  And 
he  is  telling  the  truth,  ‘ Only  grass  will  grow  up ! ’ 

“ And  what  of  it  if  the  grass  will  grow  up  ? ” he  con- 
tinued his  thought.  “ Still  I must  live ; I must  be  happy, 
because  I wish  but  for  this  — happiness.  It  matters  not 
what  I am : such  an  animal  as  the  rest,  over  which  the 
grass  will  grow,  and  nothing  else,  or  a frame  into  which 


196 


THE  COSSACKS 


a part  of  the  One  God  has  been  encased,  — I must  still  live 
the  best  way  possible.  But  how  must  I live  in  order 
to  be  happy,  and  why  have  I not  been  happy  before  ? ” 
And  he  began  to  recall  his  former  life,  and  he  was  dis- 
gusted with  himself.  He  represented  himself  as  an 
exacting  egoist,  whereas  in  reality  he  needed  very  little 
for  himself.  And  he  kept  gazing  about  him : at  the  foliage 
checkered  by  the  sunlight,  at  the  declining  sun,  and  at 
the  clear  heaven,  and  he  felt  himself  as  happy  as  before. 

“ Why  am  I happy,  and  why  have  I lived  before  ?”  he 
thought.  “ How  exacting  I used  to  be ! How  I con- 
cocted and  caused  nothing  but  shame  and  woe  for  my- 
self ! ” And  suddenly  it  seemed  that  a new  world  was 
open  to  him.  “ Happiness  is  this,”  he  said  to  himself : 
“ happiness  consists  in  living  for  others.  This  is  clear. 
The  desire  for  happiness  is  inborn  in  man ; consequently 
it  is  legitimate.  In  attempting  to  satisfy  it  in  an  ego- 
istical manner,  that  is,  by  seeking  wealth,  glory,  comforts 
of  life,  and  love,  the  circumstances  may  sp  arrange  them- 
selves that  it  is  impossible  to  satisfy  these  desires.  Con- 
sequently these  desires  are  illegitimate,  but  the  need  of 
happiness  is  not  illegitimate.  Now,  what  desires  are 
these  that  can  always  be  satisfied,  in  spite  of  external 
conditions  ? What  desires  ? Love,  self-sacrifice ! ” 

He  was  so  rejoiced  and  excited  when  he  discovered  this 
truth  which  seemed  to  be  new,  that  he  leaped  up  and 
impatiently  began  to  look  around  for  some  one  to  sacrifice 
himself  for,  to  do  good  to,  and  to  love.  “ I do  not  need 
anything  for  myself,”  he  proceeded  in  his  thought,  “ then 
why  should  I not  live  for  others  ? ” 

He  picked  up  his  gun  and  walked  out  of  the  thicket, 
with  the  intention  of  returning  as  soon  as  possible  to  the 
house,  where  he  could  consider  the  matter  carefully,  and 
would  find  a chance  to  do  some  good.  When  he  walked 
out  into  the  clearing,  he  gazed  about  him : the  sun  could 
no  longer  be  seen  above  the  tree-tops;  it  was  growing 


THE  COSSACKS 


197 


cooler,  and  the  locality  seemed  to  him  quite  unfamiliar 
and  not  like  the  one  which  surrounded  the  village. 
Everything  was  suddenly  changed,  — both  the  weather,  and 
the  character  of  the  forest.  The  sky  was  shrouded  by 
clouds ; the  wind  rustled  in  the  tree-tops ; all  around  him 
could  be  seen  nothing  but  reeds  and  old,  broken  trees. 
He  called  his  dog,  which  had  run  ahead  of  him  in  pursuit 
of  some  animal,  and  his  voice  reechoed  in  the  wilderness. 

And  suddenly  he  felt  dreadfully  ill  at  ease.  He  grew 
timid.  Abreks  and  murders,  of  which  he  had  heard, 
passed  through  his  mind,  and  he  waited  for  a Chechen 
to  jump  out  from  behind  each  bush,  when  he  would  have 
to  defend  his  life  and  die,  or  like  a coward  run.  He 
thought  of  God  and  of  the  future  life,  as  he  never  before 
had  thought  of  it.  And  all  around  him  was  the  same 
gloomy,  severe,  wild  Nature.  “ Is  it  worth  while  to  live 
for  myself/’  he  thought,  “when  I may  die  any  minute, 
and  die  without  having  done  any  good,  and  without  any 
one  knowing  it  ? ” 

He  walked  in  the  direction  where  he  supposed  the 
village  to  be.  He  no  longer  thought  of  his  hunt.  He 
experienced  mortal  fatigue,  and  with  extraordinary  atten- 
tion, almost  with  terror,  watched  every  bush  and  tree, 
expecting  any  moment  to  make  his  account  with  life. 
Having  wandered  about  for  quite  awhile,  he  came  to  a 
runlet,  down  which  flowed  the  sandy,  cold  water  of  the 
T4rek,  and,  not  to  lose  his  way  again,  he  decided  to  walk 
along  the  brook.  He  walked,  without  knowing  whither 
it  would  take  him.  Suddenly  the  reeds  behind  him 
rustled.  He  was  startled  and  grasped  his  gun.  He  was 
ashamed  of  himself  when  he  saw  his  panting  dog  rush 
into  the  cold  water  of  the  runlet  and  lap  it. 

He  took  a drink  himself  and  walked  in  the  direction 
of  the  stream,  hoping  that  it  would  bring  him  to  the 
village ; but,  in  spite  of  the  companionship  of  his  dog, 
everything  around  him  appeared  to  him  unusually  gloomy. 


198 


THE  COSSACKS 


The  forest  was  growing  darker,  the  wind  blew  ever 
stronger  through  the  tops  of  the  old  broken  trees.  Some 
large  birds  were  shrieking  and  circling  about  the  nests 
in  these  trees.  The  vegetation  grew  more  scanty ; rus- 
tling reeds  and  barren,  sandy  clearings,  tramped  down  by 
animal  tracks,  became  more  common.  To  the  roar  of  the 
wind  was  added  another  disagreeable,  monotonous  roar. 
He  felt  altogether  melancholy.  He  put  his  hand  on 
the  pheasants  back  of  him,  and  he  found  one  missing. 
The  pheasant  had  broken  off  and  was  lost,  and  only  the 
bloody  neck  and  head  remained  in  the  belt.  He  had 
never  felt  so  terribly  before.  He  began  to  pray  to  God, 
and  he  was  afraid  but  of  this,  that  he  might  die  without 
having  done  anything  good  ; and  he  was  so  anxious  to  live, 
to  live,  in  order  to  commit  an  act  of  self-renunciation. 


XXL 


Suddenly  his  soul  became  illumined  as  though  by  the 
sun.  He  heard  the  sounds  of  Eussian  speech,  and  the 
swift  and  even  flow  of  the  Terek,  and  two  steps  in  front 
of  him  lay  the  cinnamon-coloured  moving  surface  of  the 
river,  with  its  dark  brown  wet  sand  on  the  banks  and 
shoals,  the  distant  steppe,  the  watch-tower  of  the  cordon 
that  stood  out  above  the  water,  a saddled  horse  walking 
hobbled  in  the  buckthorn-bushes,  and  the  mountains. 
The  red  sun  burst  suddenly  from  behind  a cloud,  and 
with  its  last  rays  gleamed  merrily  down  the  river,  over 
the  reeds,  on  the  watch-tower,  and  on  the  Cossacks 
gathered  in  a group,  among  whom  Lukashka  involun- 
tarily attracted  Olenin’s  attention  by  his  spirited  figure. 

Olenin  again  felt,  without  any  apparent  cause,  quite 
happy.  He  had  struck  the  Nizhne-Protok  post,  on  the 
Terek,  opposite  the  peaceable  native  village  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river.  He  saluted  the  Cossacks,  but  finding 
no  chance  of  doing  a good  act,  walked  into  the  hut.  Nor 
did  any  chance  present  itself  there.  He  walked  into  the 
clay  hut  and  lighted  a cigarette.  The  Cossacks  paid  little 
attention  to  Olenin,  in  the  first  place,  because  he  smoked 
a cigarette;  in  the  second,  because  on  that  evening  they 
had  another  attraction. 

Some  hostile  Chechens,  relatives  of  the  dead  abr£k,  had 
come  down  from  the  mountains  with  a spy,  to  ransom  the 
body.  They  were  waiting  for  the  Cossack  authorities  to 
come  from  the  village.  The  brother  of  the  killed  man, 
a tall,  stately  fellow,  with  a clipped  beard  painted  red, 

199 


200 


THE  COSSACKS 


though  wearing  a mantle  and  cap  that  were  all  tattered 
and  torn,  was  as  self-possessed  and  majestic  as  a king. 
His  face  resembled  that  of  the  dead  abr4k  very  closely. 
He  did  not  bestow  a glance  upon  any  one,  not  once  gazed 
at  the  dead  man,  and,  squatting  in  the  shade  on  his  heels, 
smoked  his  pipe  and  spit,  and  occasionally  uttered  a few 
guttural  sounds  of  command,  to  which  his  companion 
listened  respectfully.  It  was  obvious  that  he  was  a brave 
who  had  more  than  once  seen  the  Eussians,  and  under 
different  conditions,  and  that  at  the  present  time  nothing 
among  the  Eussians  either  surprised  or  interested  him. 

Olenin  went  up  to  the  dead  man  and  began  to  gaze  at 
him,  but  the  brother,  casting  a calm,  contemptuous,  super- 
cilious glance  upon  Olenin,  said  something  abruptly  and 
angrily.  The  spy  hastened  to  cover  the  abrek’s  face  with 
the  dead  man’s  mantle.  014nin  was  impressed  by  the 
majesty  and  austerity  of  the  brave’s  face.  He  said  some- 
thing  to  him,  asking  him  from  what  village  he  was,  but 
the  Chechen  barely  looked  at  him,  spit  out  contemptu- 
ously, and  turned  away  his  face.  Olenin  was  so  much 
surprised  that  the  mountaineer  was  not  interested  in  him, 
that  he  explained  to  himself  his  indifference  as  arising 
from  mere  stupidity,  or  from  an  unfamiliarity  with  the 
language.  He  turned  to  his  companion.  His  companion, 
the  spy  and  interpreter,  was  just  as  ragged,  but  his  hair 
was  black  and  not  red,  and  he  was  very  agile,  and  had 
extremely  white  teeth  and  sparkling  black  eyes.  The 
spy  gladly  entered  into  a conversation,  and  asked  for  a 
cigarette. 

“ There  are  five  brothers,”  the  spy  said,  in  his  broken, 
half-Eussian  speech.  “ The  Eussians  have  just  killed  the 
third  brother,  and  only  two  are  left : he  is  a brave,  a 
great  brave,”  said  the  spy,  pointing  to  the  Chechen. 
“ When  they  killed  Akhm4t-khan  ” (that  was  the  name  of 
the  dead  abrek)  “ he  was  sitting  in  the  reeds  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river;  he  saw  everything,  — how  they 


LIBRARY 
OF  THE 

OLHV‘5v  Y 


THE  COSSACKS 


201 


put  him  in  a skiff,  and  how  they  took  him  to  the  shore. 
He  stayed  there  until  night;  he  wanted  to  kill  the  old 
man,  but  the  others  would  not  let  him.,, 

Lukashka  walked  up  to  the  speakers  and  sat  down. 

“ From  what  village  are  they  ? ” he  asked. 

“ There,  in  those  mountains,”  answered  the  spy,  point- 
ing beyond  the  T^rek  to  a bluish  mist-covered  cleft. 
“ Do  you  know  Suyuk-su  ? About  ten  versts  beyond  it.” 

“ Do  you  know  Gir4y-khan  in  Suyuk-su  ? ” asked  Lu- 
kashka, obviously  boasting  of  his  friendship.  “ He  is  my 
chum.” 

“ My  neighbour,”  answered  the  spy. 

“ A fine  fellow ! ” and  Lukashka,  apparently  much  in- 
terested, began  to  speak  in  Tartar  with  the  interpreter. 

The  captain  and  village  elder,  with  a suite  of  two  Cos- 
sacks, all  mounted,  arrived  soon  after.  The  captain,  a 
newly  created  Cossack  officer,  saluted  the  Cossacks ; no 
one  answered  the  salutation  with  a “ We  wish  you  health, 
well-born  sir ! ” as  army  soldiers  do,  but  here  and  there  a 
Cossack  answered  by  a mere  nod.  Some,  and  Lukashka 
was  among  their  number,  rose  and  stood  in  a military 
attitude.  The  under-officer  reported  everything  in  proper 
condition  at  the  post.  All  this  seemed  very  ridiculous  to 
Olenin;  it  looked  as  though  the  Cossacks  tried  to  play 
soldiers.  But  the  formality  soon  passed  into  simple  rela- 
tions, and  the  captain,  who  was  just  such  an  agile  Cossack 
as  the  rest,  carried  on  a brisk  conversation  in  Tartar  with 
the  interpreter.  They  wrote  up  a document  which  they 
gave  to  the  spy ; they  took  money  from  him,  and  went  up 
to  the  dead  body. 

“ Gavrilov  Lukd,  who  is  he  ? ” said  the  captain. 

Lukashka  took  off  his  cap  and  stepped  up  to  him. 

“ I have  sent  a report  about  you  to  the  commander.  I 
do  not  know  what  will  come  of  it.  I have  recommended 
a cross,  — it  is  too  early  yet  for  a sergeancy.  Can  you 
read  and  write  ? ” 


THE  COSSACKS 


zuz 

“ Not  at  all.” 

“ What  a fine-looking  fellow  you  are,”  said  the  captain, 
continuing  to  play  the  superior.  “ Put  on  your  cap  ! Of 
what  Gavrilovs  is  he  ? Of  the  Broad  ? ” 

“ His  nephew,”  answered  the  under-officer. 

“ I know,  I know.  Now,  come  on,  give  them  a lift,” 
he  said  to  the  Cossacks. 

Lukashka’s  face  was  gleaming  with  joy,  and  looked 
more  beautiful  than  ever.  Walking  away  from  the  under- 
officer, and  donning  his  cap,  he  again  seated  himself  near 
Olenin. 

When  the  body  was  carried  into  the  skiff,  the  brother 
of  the  Chechen  brave  walked  down  to  the  shore.  The 
Cossacks  involuntarily  stepped  aside,  to  make  way  for 
him.  He  pushed  off  the  boat  with  his  powerful  foot,  and 
leaped  into  it.  Olenin  noticed  that  he  now,  for  the  first 
time,  cast  a rapid  glance  upon  all  the  Cossacks,  and  again 
abruptly  asked  his  companion  something.  His  companion 
answered  him  and  pointed  to  Lukashka.  The  Chechen 
gazed  at  him,  and,  turning  slowly  away,  began  to  look  at 
the  other  shore.  Not  hatred,  but  cold  contempt,  was  ex- 
pressed in  this  glance.  He  again  said  something. 

“ What  did  he  say  ? ” asked  Olenin,  of  the  mercurial 
interpreter. 

“ You  strike  ours,  we  kill  yours,  — all  the  same,”  said 
the  spy,  obviously  lying.  He  laughed,  displaying  his 
white  teeth,  and  jumped  into  the  skiff. 

The  brother  of  the  dead  man  sat  immovable,  and 
looked  steadily  at  the  other  bank.  He  was  so  full  of 
hatred  and  contempt  that  there  could  be  nothing  interest- 
ing for  him  on  this  side.  The  spy  stood  at  the  end  of 
the  skiff,  and,  transferring  his  oar  from  one  side  to  the 
other,  skilfully  directed  the  boat.  He  was  talking  with- 
out cessation.  The  skiff  cut  the  current  in  an  oblique 
direction,  and  looked  ever  smaller  and  smaller.  Their 
voices  were  scarcely  audible,  and  finally  they  could  be 


THE  COSSACKS 


203 


seen  disembarking  where  their  horses  were  standing. 
There  they  carried  the  body  on  shore.  Though  the 
horse  was  restless,  they  placed  the  body  on  its  saddle, 
mounted,  and  slowly  rode  along  the  road  past  the  village, 
from  which  a crowd  of  people  came  out  to  look  at  them. 
The  Cossacks  on  our  side  were  very  contented  and  happy. 
Everywhere  were  heard  laughter  and  jokes.  The  captain 
and  village  elder  made  themselves  comfortable  in  the 
clay  hut.  Lukashka,  with  happy  face,  to  which  he  vainly 
tried  to  give  a staid  appearance,  sat  near  Olenin,  leaning 
his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  whittling  a stick. 

“ Why  do  you  smoke  ? ” he  said,  as  though  with  curi- 
osity. “ Is  it  good  ? ” 

He  said  this  for  no  other  reason  than  because  he  noticed 
that  Olenin  did  not  feel  at  ease,  and  was  all  alone  among 
the  Cossacks. 

“ I am  just  used  to  it,”  answered  Olenin.  “ Why  ? ” 

“ Hm ! It  would  be  bad  if  any  of  us  fellows  should 
smoke ! It  is  not  far  to  the  mountains,”  said  Lukashka, 
pointing  to  the  cleft,  “ and  yet  you  won’t  get  there  so  easily ! 
How  will  you  get  home  by  yourself  ? It  is  dark.  I will 
take  you  home  if  you  wish,”  said  Lukashka.  “ Just  ask 
the  under-officer’s  permission.” 

“ What  a fine  fellow ! ” thought  Olenin,  watching  the 
Cossack’s  happy  face.  He  recalled  Maryanka  and  the 
kiss  which  he  had  heard  by  the  gate,  and  he  was  sorry  for 
Lukashka,  sorry  for  his  lack  of  education. 

“ What  bosh  and  nonsense  ! ” he  thought.  “ One  man 
has  killed  another,  and  he  is  happy  as  though  he  had 
committed  a most  beautiful  act.  Does  nothing  tell  him 
that  there  is  no  cause  here  for  any  great  rejoicing  ? That 
happiness  does  not  consist  in  killing,  but  in  sacrificing 
yourself  ? ” 

“ Now,  don’t  you  get  in  his  way,  brother ! ” said  one  of 
the  Cossacks  who  had  accompanied  the  skiff,  turning  to 
Luk&shka.  “ Did  you  hear  him  ask  about  you  ? ” 


204 


THE  COSSACKS 


Lukashka  raised  his  head. 

“ You  mean  the  godson  ? ” said  Lukashka,  meaning  the 
Chechen. 

“ The  godson  will  not  rise  again,  but  his  red-haired 
brother  may  be  godfather/’ 

“ Let  him  thank  God  for  having  escaped  with  a whole 
skin  ! ” said  Lukashka,  laughing. 

“ What  are  you  rejoicing  at  ? ” Olenin  said  to  Lukashka, 
“ Would  you  rejoice  if  they  killed  your  brother  ? ” 

The  Cossack’s  eyes  were  smiling,  as  they  looked  at 
Olenin.  He  evidently  understood  what  the  other  wanted 
to  say,  but  he  was  above  such  considerations. 

“Well?  It  does  happen!  Do  they  not  kill  our 
brothers  ? ” 


XXII. 


The  captain  and  elder  rode  away.  Wishing  to  give 
Lukashka  some  pleasure  and  not  to  walk  all  alone  through 
the  woods,  Olenin  asked  the  under-officer  to  give  Lu- 
kashka a leave  of  absence,  which  was  granted.  Olenin 
thought  that  Lukashka  wanted  to  see  Maryanka,  and  he 
was  in  general  glad  to  have  the  companionship  of  such  an 
apparently  agreeable  and  talkative  Cossack.  Lukashka 
and  Maryanka  involuntarily  were  united  in  his  imagina- 
tion, and  it  gave  him  pleasure  to  think  of  them.  “He 
loves  Maryanka/’  Olenin  thought,  “ and  I might  have 
loved  her.”  And  a strong,  novel  feeling  of  humility  of 
spirit  took  possession  of  him  on  his  way  through  the  dark 
forest.  Lukashka,  too,  was  light  of  heart.  There  was 
something  resembling  love  between  these  two  so  different 
young  people.  Every  time  they  looked  at  each  other, 
they  felt  like  laughing. 

“ What  gate  do  you  go  to  ? ” asked  Olenin. 

“ Into  the  middle  gate.  But  I will  take  you  to  the 
swamp.  There  you  need  not  fear  anything.” 

Olenin  laughed. 

“ Do  you  think  I am  afraid  ? Go  back,  I thank  you.  I 
will  get  there  myself.” 

“ Never  mind ! What  else  have  I to  do  ? How  can 
you  help  being  afraid  ? We  are,”  said  Lukashka,  also 
laughing,  and  assuaging  his  vanity. 

“ Come  to  my  house  ! We  will  talk  and  drink  together, 
and  in  the  morning  you  can  leave.” 

“ Oh,  I will  find  a place  where  I can  pass  a night" 
205 


206 


THE  COSSACKS 


Lukashka  laughed,  “ and  the  under-officer  told  me  to  be 
back/' 

“ I heard  you  singing  songs  last  night,  and  I saw  you, 
too.” 

“ All  people  — ” and  Luka  shook  his  head. 

“ Well,  are  you  going  to  marry  ? Is  it  true  ?”  Olenin 
asked. 

“ Mother  wants  to  get  me  married.  But  I have  not 
yet  a horse  ” 

“ You  are  not  yet  a mounted  Cossack  ? ” 

“ No,  I am  just  getting  ready  to  be  one.  I have  no 
horse,  and  I don’t  know  how  to  procure  one.  So  they 
cannot  get  me  married  yet.” 

“ How  much  does  a horse  cost  ? ” 

“We  were  chaffering  for  one  the  other  day  across  the 
river.  They  would  not  take  sixty  roubles  for  him,  — and 
it  is  a Nogay  horse.” 

“ Will  you  be  my  life-guardsman  ?”  (A  life-guardsman 
was  a kind  of  an  orderly  to  an  officer  during  an  expe- 
dition.) “ I will  get  that  appointment  for  you,  and  will 
give  you  a horse,”  Olenin  suddenly  exclaimed.  “ Truly  ; 
I have  two,  and  I do  not  need  both.” 

“ Why  do  you  not  need  them  ? ” Lukashka  said,  laugh- 
ing. “ Why  give  it  away  ? I will  pay  you  for  it,  God 
permitting.” 

“ Truly  ! Or  will  you  not  be  my  life-guardsman  ? ” said 
Olenin,  rejoicing  at  the  thought  of  giving  Lukashka  a 
horse.  But,  for  some  reason  or  other,  he  felt  awkward 
and  ashamed.  He  was  trying  to  say  something,  but  did 
not  know  what. 

Lukashka  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

“ Have  you  a house  of  your  own  in  Russia  ? ” he  asked. 

Olenin  could  not  keep  from  telling  him  that  he  had  not 
only  one,  but  several  houses. 

“ Are  they  fine  houses  ? Larger  than  ours  ? ” Lukashka 
oksd,  good-naturedly. 


THE  COSSACKS 


207 


“Much  larger,  ten  times  larger;  three  stories  high/* 
Olenin  told  him. 

“ And  have  you  such  horses  as  we  have  ? ” 

“ I have  a hundred  head  of  horses,  worth  three  hundred 
and  four  hundred  roubles  apiece,  — only  they  are  not 
your  kind  of  horses.  Three  hundred  in  silver ! They  are 
race-horses,  you  know  — But  I love  yours  better.” 

“ Did  you  come  here  of  your  own  will,  or  not  ? ” 
asked  Lukashka,  as  though  in  ridicule.  “ You  are  off  your 
path,”  he  added,  pointing  to  the  road  near  which  they 
were  passing.  “ Keep  to  the  right ! ” 

“ Just  of  my  own  free  will,”  answered  Olenin.  “ I 
wanted  to  see  your  country,  and  take  part  in  expeditions.” 
“ I should  like  myself  to  go  out  with  an  expedition,” 
said  Lukashka.  “ Do  you  hear  how  the  jackals  are  howl- 
ing ? ” he  added,  listening  attentively. 

“ Tell  me,  do  you  not  feel  terribly  at  having  killed  a 
man  ? ” Olenin  asked. 

“ What  am  I to  be  afraid  of  ? I would  gladly  take 
part  in  an  expedition ! ” Lukashka  repeated.  “ I am  so 
anxious,  so  anxious  — ” 

“ Maybe  we  will  go  together.  Our  company  and  yours, 
too,  will  move  before  the  holidays.” 

“ What  pleasure  do  you  see  in  coming  here  ? You  have 
a house,  and  horses,  and  slaves.  I would  be  celebrating 
all  the  time.  Have  you  any  rank  ? ” 

“ I am  a yunker,  and  recommended  for  advancement.” 
“Well,  if  you  are  not  bragging  about  the  things  you 
possess,  I would  not  have  left  my  home.  I would  no*> 
leave  it  anyway.  Do  you  like  our  life  ? ” 

“ Yes ; very  much,”  said  Olenin. 

It  was  quite  dark  when  they,  conversing  in  this  man- 
ner, reached  the  village.  The  darkness  of  the  forest  still 
surrounded  them.  The  wind  howled  high  in  the  tree- 
tops.  The  jackals,  it  seemed,  suddenly  moaned,  laughed, 
and  cried  near  them ; but  in  front  of  them,  in  the  village, 


208 


THE  COSSACKS 


were  heard  the  talk  of  women  and  barking  of  dogs ; and 
the  outlines  of  cabins  were  clearly  defined,  and  lights 
gleamed,  and  the  air  was  redolent  with  the  odour,  the 
particular  odour,  of  dung-chip  smoke.  Olenin  felt,  more 
especially  on  that  evening,  that  here  was  his  house,  his 
family,  all  his  happiness,  and  that  nowhere  had  he  lived, 
or  ever  should  live,  as  happily  as  in  this  village.  That 
evening  he  loved  everybody,  but  particularly  Lukashka ! 
When  they  arrived  home,  Olenin,  to  Lukashka’s  great 
astonishment,  brought  out  of  the  stable  a horse  which 
he  had  bought  at  Groznaya,  — not  the  one  on  which  he 
always  rode,  but  another,  — not  a bad-looking,  though  not 
a very  young  horse,  and  gave  it  to  him. 

“ Why  should  you  make  a gift  to  me  ? ” said  Lukdshka. 
“ I have  done  you  no  service.” 

“ Truly,  it  does  not  cost  me  anything,”  replied  Olenin. 
“Take  it,  and  you  will  make  me  some  gift — We  will 
go  into  the  expedition  together.” 

Lukashka  was  embarrassed. 

“How  is  that?  A horse  costs  something,”  he  said, 
without  looking  at  the  horse. 

“ Take  it,  do  take  it ! You  will  offend  me  if  you  do 
not  take  it ! Vanyusha,  take  the  gray  out  to  him  ! ” 
Lukashka  took  hold  of  the  bridle. 

“ I thank  you.  Well,  that  was  unexpected.” 

Olenin  was  as  happy  as  a twelve-year-old  boy. 

“ Tie  him  up  here  ! It  is  a good  horse,  I bought  him  in 
Groznaya,  and  he  is  a fine  trotter.  Vanyusha,  let  us  have 
some  red  wine  ! Come  into  the  house  ! ” 

The  wine  was  brought.  Lukashka  sat  down  and  took 
the  wine-bowl. 

“ God  will  give  me  a chance  to  do  you  a good  turn,”  he 
said,  drinking  the  wine.  “ What  is  your  name  ? ” 

“ Dmitri  Andreevich.” 

“ Well,  Mitri  Andreevich,  God  preserve  you.  We  will  be 
chums.  Now,  you  must  come  to  see  us  sometime.  We 


THE  COSSACKS 


209 


are  not  rich  people,  but  will  know  how  to  treat  a guest. 
I will  tell  mother  to  let  you  have  boiled  cream  or  grapes, 
or  whatever  else  you  may  need.  And  whenever  you  come 
to  the  cordon,  I will  be  your  servant,  — whether  on  the 
hunt,  or  across  the  river,  or  wherever  you  may  wish,  A 
pity  I did  not  know  you  the  other  day.  I killed  a fine 
boar  ! I divided  him  up  among  the  Cossacks,  or  I would 
have  brought  him  to  you.” 

“ All  right,  I thank  you.  Only  do  not  hitch  him  to  a 
team,  for  he  has  never  been  hitched  before.” 

“ Who  would  hitch  a horse  ? I will  tell  you  some- 
thing,” Lukashka  said,  lowering  his  head.  “ I have  a 
chum,  Gir^y-khan  by  name.  He  called  me  to  lie  in 
ambush  on  the  road  where  people  from  the  mountains 
pass  by ; so  we  will  go  together.  I will  not  give  you 
away,  I will  be  your  trusty  friend.” 

“ We  will  go  there  sometime.” 

Lukashka  seemed  to  be  quite  at  ease,  and  to  under- 
stand Olenin’s  relations  with  him.  His  calm  and  sim- 
plicity of  address  surprised  Olenin  and  even  annoyed  him 
a little.  They  talked  together  for  quite  awhile,  and  it 
was  late  when  Lukashka,  not  drunk  (he  never  was),  but 
well  filled  with  wine,  pressed  Olenin’s  hand  and  left  his 
room. 

Olenin  looked  out  of  the  window  to  see  what  he 
would  do  after  leaving  him.  Lukashka  walked  slowly, 
with  drooping  head.  Then,  when  he  had  taken  the  horse 
outside  the  gate,  he  suddenly  shook  his  head,  jumped  upon 
him  like  a cat,  threw  the  reins  of  the  halter  over  his 
head,  and,  shouting,  galloped  down  the  street.  Olenin 
had  imagined  that  he  would  go  to  share  his  joy  with 
Maryanka ; but  even  though  Lukashka  had  not  done  so, 
Olenin  felt  as  happy  as  never  before  in  his  life.  He  was 
as  joyful  as  a child,  and  could  not  keep  from  telling 
Vanyusha,  not  only  about  his  having  given  the  horse  to 
Lukashka,  but  why  he  had  made  him  that  gift,  and  also 


210 


THE  COSSACKS 


about  his  new  theory  of  happiness.  Vanyusha  did  not 
approve  of  this  theory,  and  he  explained  that  L argent  il 
n'y  a pas,  and  consequently  it  was  all  nonsense. 

Lukashka  rode  home,  leaped  from  his  horse,  and  gave 
it  to  his  mother,  with  the  injunction  to  let  it  out  to  pas- 
ture with  the  Cossack  herd ; but  he  himself  had  to  return 
that  very  night  to  the  cordon.  The  dumb  girl  promised 
to  take  down  the  horse,  and  she  explained  by  signs  that 
she  would  make  her  low  obeisance  to  the  man  who  had 
given  him  the  horse,  as  soon  as  she  should  see  him.  The 
old  woman  only  shook  her  head  at  her  son's  recital,  and 
in  her  heart  decided  that  Lukashka  had  stolen  the  horse, 
and  so  she  ordered  the  dumb  girl  to  take  him  to  pasture 
before  daybreak. 

Lukashka  went  alone  to  the  cordon,  all  the  time  revolv- 
ing in  his  mind  Olenin’s  act.  Though  the  horse,  in  his 
opinion,  was  not  a good  one,  yet  it  was  worth  at  least  forty 
roubles,  and  Lukashka  was  very  happy  with  the  gift. 
But  he  could  not  understand  why  this  gift  was  made,  and 
so  he  did  not  feel  the  least  gratitude.  On  the  contrary, 
indistinct  suspicions  of  the  yunker's  evil  intentions  dis- 
quieted his  mind.  What  these  intentions  were,  he  could 
not  make  out,  but  it  seemed  impossible  to  him  to  admit 
the  thought  that  a stranger  would  give  him  a horse  worth 
forty  roubles  for  no  reason  whatsoever,  and  just  out  of 
kindness.  It  would  be  a different  matter  if  he  had  been 
intoxicated,  and  wanted  to  show  off.  But  the  yunker  had 
been  sober,  consequently  he  wanted  to  bribe  him  for 
some  bad  deed. 

“ That's  where  you  are  mistaken  ! " thought  Lukdshka. 
“ I have  the  horse,  and  as  for  the  rest,  we  will  see.  I am 
not  as  stupid  as  all  that.  We  will  see  who  will  cheat 
whom ! " he  thought,  feeling  the  need  of  being  on  guard 
against  Olenin,  and  therefore  of  arousing  in  himself  a hos- 
tile feeling  toward  him.  He  did  not  tell  anybody  how  he 
bad  come  by  his  horse.  He  told  some  he  had  bought 


THE  COSSACKS 


211 


him,  and  gave  evasive  answers  to  others.  Still  the  people 
of  the  village  soon  learned  the  truth.  Lukashka’s  mother, 
Maryanka,  Ilya  Vasilevich,  and  other  Cossacks,  who  were 
informed  of  Olenin’s  causeless  gift,  were  perplexed,  and 
began  to  fear  the  yunker.  In  spite  of  these  fears,  the 
deed  aroused  their  great  respect  for  Olenin's  simplicity 
and  wealth. 

“ Listen,  the  yunker  who  is  lodged  at  Ilya  Vasilevich's 
gave  Lukashka  a horse  worth  fifty  roubles,"  said  one. 
“ He  is  rich  ! ” 

“ I have  heard  so,”  answered  another,  thoughtfully. 
“ He  must  have  done  him  some  service.  We  shall  see, 
we  shall  see  what  he  will  do ! That's  the  ‘ Saver’s ' 
luck ! ” 

“ These  yunkers  are  an  awful  lot  of  cheats,”  said  a 
third.  “ He’ll  burn  down  a house,  or  do  something 
worse  yet.” 


XXIII. 


Olenin’s  life  ran  monotonously  and  smoothly.  He 
had  little  to  do  with  the  authorities  or  his  companions. 
The  position  of  a rich  yunker  in  the  Caucasus  is  in 
this  respect  exceedingly  advantageous.  He  was  not  sent 
out  to  work  or  to  military  drill.  For  his  services  in 
an  expedition  he  was  recommended  for  advancement  as  a 
regular  officer,  but  in  the  meantime  he  was  left  alone. 
The  officers  regarded  him  as  an  aristocrat,  and  therefore 
were  on  their  dignity  in  their  relations  with  him.  Card- 
playing and  the  carousals  of  the  officers,  accompanied  by 
singing,  which  were  common  in  the  army,  did  not  appear 
attractive  to  him,  and  he  kept  aloof  from  the  society  of 
the  officers  and  from  tlieir  life  in  the  village. 

The  life  of  the  officers  in  the  Cossack  villages  has  for 
a long  time  had  a definite  character.  Just  as  every 
yunker  or  officer  in  the  fortress  regularly  drinks  porter, 
gambles  at  cards,  and  talks  of  rewards  for  services  in 
expeditions,  so  he  in  the  villages  regularly  drinks  red 
wine  with  the  landlord,  treats  the  girls  to  cakes  and 
honey,  flirts  with  the  Cossack  girls,  with  whom  he  falls 
in  love ; and  sometimes  he  gets  married.  014nin  always 
lived  in  his  own  peculiar  manner,  and  had  an  uncon- 
scious aversion  for  beaten  paths.  Nor  did  he  follow 
here  the  beaten  track  of  the  life  of  an  officer  in  the 
Caucasus. 

Without  making  any  exertion,  he  woke  with  the  day- 
light. After  drinking  hi3  tea  and  admiring  from  his 
porch  the  mountains,  the  morning,  and  Maryanka,  he  put 

212 


THE  COSSACKS 


213 


on  a torn  ox-hide  coat,  the  soaked  buckskins,  girded  on 
his  dagger,  took  his  gun,  a pouch  with  a lunch  and 
tobacco,  called  his  dog,  and  after  five  o’clock  in  the  morn- 
ing walked  into  the  forest  back  of  the  village.  At  about 
seven  o’clock  in  the  evening  he  returned,  tired,  famished, 
with  five  or  six  pheasants  in  his  belt,  sometimes  with 
a larger  animal,  while  the  pouch  with  the  lunch  and 
cigarettes  remained  untouched.  If  the  thoughts  in  his 
head  had  remained  like  the  cigarettes  in  his  pouch,  it 
would  be  easy  to  see  that  not  one  thought  had  stirred 
there  in  the  course  of  these  fourteen  hours.  He  returned 
home  morally  fresh,  strong,  and  completely  happy.  It 
would  have  been  difficult  for  him  to  say  what  he  had 
been  thinking  about  during  all  that  time.  Not  thoughts, 
not  recollections,  not  dreams,  were  rummaging  through  his 
brain,  — there  were  only  fragments  of  all  these.  He 
sometimes  stopped  to  ask  himself  what  it  was  he  was 
thinking  about,  and  he  discovered  himself  as  a Cossack 
working  with  his  wife  in  the  gardens,  or  as  an  abrek  in 
the  mountains,  or  as  a boar  running  away  from  himself. 
And  all  this  time  he  listened,  watched,  and  waited  for 
a pheasant,  boar,  or  stag. 

In  the  evening  Uncle  Erdshka  was  sure  to  be  at  his 
house.  Vanyusha  brought  an  eighth  measure  of  wine, 
and  they  conversed  softly  and  drank,  and  separated  for 
the  night  well  contented.  On  the  following  day  there 
was  again  hunting,  again  healthful  fatigue,  again  the  wine- 
drinking and  chatting,  and  again  the  contentment.  Some- 
times, on  a holiday  or  day  of  rest,  he  passed  a whole  day 
at  home.  Then  his  chief  interest  was  Maryanka,  every 
motion  of  whom  he  eagerly  watched,  without  being  con- 
scious of  it,  from  his  window  or  from  his  porch.  He 
gazed  at  Maryanka,  and  loved  her  (so  he  thought)  as 
he  loved  the  beauty  of  the  mountains  and  of  the  sky,  and 
did  not  think  of  entering  into  any  relations  with  her.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  between  him  and  her  could  not  exist 


214 


THE  COSSACKS 


the  relations  that  were  possible  between  her  and  Cossack 
Lukashka,  and  still  less  the  relations  that  were  possible 
between  a wealthy  officer  and  a Cossack  maiden.  It 
appeared  to  him  that  if  he  tried  to  do  what  his  com- 
panions were  doing,  he  would  exchange  his  full  enjoy- 
ment and  contemplation  for  an  abyss  of  torments, 
disappointments,  and  regrets.  Besides,  in  relation  to 
this  woman  he  had  already  accomplished  the  feat  of  self- 
renunciation,  which  had  afforded  him  so  much  pleasure ; 
but,  above  all,  he  was  for  some  reason  afraid  of  Maryanka, 
and  would  not  dare  to  utter  one  word  of  pleasantry  to 
her. 

One  summer  day  Olenin  did  not  go  out  hunting,  and 
remained  at  home.  Quite  unexpectedly  a Moscow  ac- 
quaintance of  his,  a very  young  man  whom  he  used  to 
meet  in  society,  entered  his  room. 

“Ah,  mon  cher , my  dear,  how  happy  I was  to  learn 
that  you  were  here!”  he  began,  in  his  Moscow  French 
jargon,  and  he  continued  to  interlard  his  speech  with 
French  words.  “I  heard  them  say  ‘Olenin/  What 
Offinin  ? I was  so  rejoiced  — So  fate  has  brought  us 
together.  Well,  how  are  you?  What  are  you  doing? 
And  why  here  ? ” 

Prince  Byel^tski  told  him  his  whole  story : how  he 
had  joined  the  regiment  for  awhile,  how  the  commander- 
in-chief  had  asked  him  to  be  his  adjutant,  and  how  he 
would  enter  his  service  after  the  expedition,  although 
he  was  not  in  the  least  interested  in  the  matter. 

“ If  I serve  here,  in  this  wilderness,  I must  at  least 
make  a career  — a cross  — rank  — and  be  transferred 
to  the  Guards.  All  this  is  necessary,  not  for  my  own 
sake,  but  for  my  relatives,  for  my  friends.  The  prince 
has  received  me  very  well;  he  is  a very  nice  kind  of 
man,”  said  Byel^tski,  without  taking  breath.  “ I have 
been  recommended  for  an  Anna  decoration  for  services 
in  the  expedition.  Now  I am  going  to  stay  here  to  the 


THE  COSSACKS 


215 


next  campaign.  It  is  superb  here.  What  women  ! Well, 
and  how  do  you  pass  your  time  ? Our  captain  — you 
know  Stratsev,  a kind-hearted,  stupid  creature  — told  me 
that  you  lived  here  like  a terrible  savage,  that  you  had 
nothing  to  do  with  anybody.  I understand  that  you  do 
not  wish  to  become  closely  acquainted  with  the  officers. 
I am  glad  we  shall  be  able  to  see  something  of  each 
other.  I am  lodging  with  the  under-officer.  What  a 
girl  his  Ustenka  is  ! I tell  you  she  is  fine  ! ” 

And  more  and  more  French  and  Russian  words  from 
that  society  which  Olenin  thought  he  had  for  ever  aban- 
doned were  poured  forth  by  him.  The  common  opinion 
was  that  Byeletski  was  a dear,  good-natured  fellow. 
Maybe  he  really  was;  but  to  Offinin  he  appeared,  in 
spite  of  his  good-natured,  handsome  face,  exceedingly 
disagreeable ; he  brought  with  him  a strong  breath  of  all 
that  loathsomeness  which  he  had  renounced.  But  he  was 
most  annoyed  because  he  could  not,  positively  did  not, 
have  the  strength  to  push  away  from  himself  that  man 
from  that  society,  as  though  that  old  past  society  had 
some  inalienable  rights  upon  him.  He  was  angry  at 
Byeletski  and  at  himself,  and  against  his  will  mingled 
French  phrases  with  his  conversation,  took  interest  in 
the  commander-in-chief  and  his  Moscow  acquaintances, 
and,  on  the  basis  of  their  speaking  a French  jargon  in 
a Cossack  village,  referred  with  contempt  to  his  fellow 
officers,  and  to  the  Cossacks,  and  treated  Byeletski  in  a 
friendly  manner,  promising  to  call  on  him,  and  asking 
him  to  come  to  see  him.  However,  Olenin  never  called 
on  Byeletski.  Vanyusha  approved  of  Byeletski,  saying 
that  he  was  a real  gentleman. 

Byeletski  at  once  took  up  the  customary  life  of  a rich 
Caucasus  officer  in  the  village.  Olenin  could  see  his  rapid 
evolution : in  one  month  he  appeared  to  be  an  old  inhabi- 
tant of  the  village ; he  treated  the  old  men,  gave  evening 
parties,  and  himself  went  to  girls’  evening  parties,  boasted 


21b 


THE  COSS.iCXS 


of  his  conquests,  and  even  went  so  far  that  the  girls  and 
women  for  some  reason  called  him  little  grandfather , 
while  the  Cossacks,  who  had  formed  a clear  idea  about 
the  man  who  was  fond  of  wine  and  women,  became  ac- 
customed to  him,  and  even  liked  him  better  than  016nin? 
who  remained  a puzzle  to  them. 


XXIV. 


It  was  five  o’clock  in  the  morning.  Vanyusha  was  on 
the  porch,  fanning  the  samovdr  with  his  bootleg.  Olenin 
had  already  ridden  down  to  the  T4rek  to  bathe.  (He 
had  lately  discovered  a new  amusement,  to  bathe  his 
horse  in  the  Terek.)  The  landlady  was  in  the  dairy, 
from  the  chimney  of  which  rose  the  dense  black  smoke 
of  the  oven  in  which  a fire  had  just  been  kindled ; the 
girl  was  milking  the  buffalo  cow  in  the  stall.  “ Stand 
still,  accursed  one ! ” was  heard  her  impatient  voice,  and 
soon  after  followed  the  even  sound  of  milking. 

On  the  street,  near  the  house,  was  heard  the  brisk 
tramp  of  the  horse,  and  Olenin,  on  his  beautiful,  dark 
gray  horse,  shining  with  wet,  rode  bareback  up  to  the 
gate.  Maryanka’s  fair  head,  wrapped  in  a red  kerchief, 
stuck  out  of  the  stall  and  again  disappeared.  Olenin 
wore  a red  shirt  of  Persian  silk,  a white  mantle,  girded 
by  a leather  strap  with  a dagger  in  it,  and  a tall  cap.  He 
sat  rather  jauntily  cn  the  wet  back  of  his  well-fed"  horse, 
and,  holding  his  gun  on  his  back,  bent  over  to  open  the 
gate.  His  hair  was  still  wet,  his  face  was  aglow  with 
youth  and  health. 

He  thought  he  was  handsome,  agile,  and  resembling  a 
brave ; but  that  was  a mistake.  To  the  eye  of  every  ex- 
perienced inhabitant  of  the  Caucasus  he  was  still  a soldier. 
When  he  noticed  the  girl’s  head  thrust  forward,  he  made 
a special  effort  to  bend  down  gracefully,  and,  opening  the 
gate  and  holding  the  bridle,  cracked  his  whip,  and  rode 
into  the  yard. 


217 


218 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ Is  tea  ready,  Vanyusha  ? ” he  cried,  merrily,  without 
looking  at  the  stall.  It  gave  him  pleasure  to  feel  his 
beautiful  horse  contracting  the  crupper,  begging  for  loose 
reins,  and  swelling  every  muscle,  ready  to  leap  with  all 
feet  at  once  over  the  fence,  and  striking  the  dried  up  clay 
of  the  yard  with  his  hoofs. 

“ C'est  joret  ! ” answered  Vanyusha. 

Olenin  thought  that  Maryanka’s  beautiful  head  was 
still  looking  out  of  the  shed,  but  he  did  not  glance  in  that 
direction.  Leaping  down  from  his  horse,  Olenin  caught 
his  gun  in  the  porch ; he  made  an  awkward  motion,  and 
looked  in  a frightened  manner  toward  the  stall,  where  no 
one  could  be  seen,  though  the  even  sound  of  milking  was 
still  heard. 

He  walked  into  the  house,  and  a little  later  came  out 
again  on  the  porch,  and,  with  a book  and  a pipe,  sat  down 
to  drink  his  tea  on  the  side  which  was  not  yet  reached 
by  the  oblique  rays  of  the  sun.  He  did  not  expect  to  go 
out  in  the  forenoon,  > and  intended  to  write  some  long- 
delayed  letters ; but  he  somehow  was  loath  to  leave  his 
snug  corner  on  the  porch,  and  the  room  appeared  like  a 
prison  to  him.  The  landlady  had  built  the  fire,  the  girl 
had  driven  out  the  cattle,  and,  upon  returning,  began  to 
collect  the  dung  and  to  sling  it  against  the  fence  to  get  it 
dry. 

Olenin  was  reading,  but  he  did  not  understand  a word 
of  what  was  said  in  the  book  which  lay  open  before  him. 
He  kept  tearing  his  eyes  away  from  it,  and  gazing  at  the 
moving  figure  of  the  well-built  young  woman  in  front  of 
him.  Whether  she  walked  into  the  damp  morning  shade 
made  by  the  house,  or  whether  she  came  out  into  the 
middle  of  the  yard,  illuminated  by  the  cheerful  splendour 
of  the  young  sun,  where  her  stately  figure  in  the  brightly 
coloured  dress  gleamed  and  cast  a black  shadow,  — he 
was  equally  afraid  of  missing  even  one  of  her  motions. 
It  gave  him  pleasure  to  see  how  freely  and  gracefully  she 


THE  COSSACKS 


219 


bent  her  frame ; how  the  rose-coloured  shirt,  which  con- 
stituted her  only  attire,  draped  itself  on  her  bosom  and 
along  her  shapely  legs ; how  she  unbent  herself,  and  how 
underffier  tightly  fitting  shirt  the  firm  lines  of  her  heaving 
breast  stood  out ; how  the  narrow  soles  of  her  feet,  clad 
in  old  red  shoes,  planted  themselves  on  the  ground,  with- 
out changing  their  form ; how  her  powerful  arms,  with 
sleeves  rolled  up,  contracted  their  muscles  as  she  wielded 
the  shovel  as  though  in  anger ; and  how  her  deep  black 
eyes  sometimes  gazed  at  him.  Though  her  delicate  eye- 
brows now  and  then  gathered  into  a frown,  her  eyes  ex- 
pressed pleasure  and  consciousness  of  her  beauty. 

“ Well,  Offiniu/have  you  been  up  long  ? ” said  Byeffitski, 
in  the  coat  of  an  officer  of  the  Caucasus,  coming  into  the 
yard  and  turning  to  Olenin. 

“ Ah  ! Byel^tski ! ” replied  Offinin,  extending  his  hand. 
“ What  brings  you  so  early  ? ” 

“ What  can  I do  ? They  sent  me  away.  There  is  a 
party  at  my  house  to-night.  Maryanka,  you  will  come 
to  tJstenka’s  ? ” he  said,  turning  to  the  girl. 

Offinin  was  amazed  to  hear  Byeffitski  address  that 
woman  in  such  a familiar  fashion.  But  Maryanka,  as 
though  not  hearing  what  he  said,  bent  her  head,  and, 
throwing  the  shovel  across  her  shoulder,  walked  to  the 
dairy  with  her  brisk,  manly  strides. 

“ She  is  embarrassed,  my  friend,  she  is  embarrassed,” 
Byel^tski  said,  as  she  walked  away,  “ she  is  embarrassed 
in  your  presence,1 ” and,  smiling  cheerfully,  he  ran  up  the 
steps. 

“ What  party  is  that  ? Who  has  sent  you  away  ? ” 

“ At  Ustenka’s,  my  landlady’s,  there  is  a party,  and  you 
are  invited.  A party,  — that  is,  cakes  and  a gathering  of 
girls.” 

“ What  are  we  going  to  do  there  ? ” 

Byel^tski  smiled  slyly,  and,  winking,  pointed  with  his 
head  to  the  dairy  where  Maryanka  had  disappeared. 


220 


THE  COSSACKS 


Olenin  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  blushed. 

“ Upon  my  word,  you  are  a strange  man ! ” he  said. 
« Well,  tell  me!” 

Olenin  scowled.  Byeldtski  noticed  this,  and  smiled,  as 
though  begging  his  pardon.  “ Beally,  I pray,”  he  said, 
“ you  are  living  in  the  same  house  with  her ; and  she  is 
such  a fine  girl,  an  excellent  girl,  a perfect  beauty  — ” 

“ A wonderful  beauty  ! I have  never  seen  such  women 
before  ! ” said  Olenin. 

“ Well?”  asked  Byeldtski,  quite  perplexed. 

“ It  may  be  strange,”  replied  Olenin,  “ but  why  should 
I not  tell  the  truth  ? Women,  it  seems,  have  not  existed 
for  me  ever  since  I have  been  living  here.  And  it  is 
good  so,  really  it  is  ! Well,  what  can  we  have  in  common 
with  these  women?  It  is  different  with  Eroshka;  we 
have  a common  passion  — hunting.” 

“ Well,  I declare  ! What  is  there  in  common  ? What 
have  I in  common  with  Amalia  Ivanovna  ? It  is  the 
same  thing.  You  will  say  that  they  are  rather  dirty. 
That  is  another  matter.  A la  guerre,  comme  h la 
guerre  ! ” 

“ But  I have  never  known  any  Amalia  Ivanovnas,  and 
never  could  get  along  with  them,”  replied  Oldnin.  “ But 
one  could  not  respect  those  women,  whereas  these  here  I 
respect.” 

“ Keep  on  respecting  them  ! Nobody  prevents  you  ! ” 

Oldnin  did  not  reply.  He  evidently  wanted  to  finish 
what  he  had  begun  to  say.  It  lay  near  to  his  heart. 

“ I know  that  I am  an  exception.”  (He  was  evidently 
embarrassed.)  “ My  life  has  arranged  itself  in  such  a way 
that  I see  no  necessity  whatsoever  of  changing  my  rules ; 
I could  not  even  live  here,  let  alone  live  as  happily,  as  I 
do,  if  I lived  in  your  fashion.  And  besides,  I am  looking 
for  something  else,  and  see  something  quite  different  from 
what  you  do.” 

Byeldtski  raised  his  brows  incredulously. 


THE  COSSACKS 


221 


“ All  the  same,  come  to  my  house  to-night.  Maryanka 
will  be  there,  and  I will  make  you  acquainted.  Do  come  ! 
Well,. if  you  find  it  dull  you  can  go  away.  Will  you 
come  ? ” 

“ I would  come ; but,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I am  seri- 
ously afraid  of  being  carried  away.” 

“ Oh,  oh,  oh  ! ” cried  Byel^tski.  “ Only  come,  and  I will 
keep  you  down.  Will  you  come  ? Your  word  of  honour  ? ” 

“ I would  come,  but,  really,  1 do  not  understand  what 
we  shall  do  there,  and  what  part  we  shall  play  there.” 

“ Please,  I beg  you.  Will  you  come  ?” 

“ Yes,  I will,  perhaps,”  said  014nin. 

“ You  see  for  yourself  that  here  are  the  most  charming 
women  in  the  world,  and  yet  you  live  like  a monk ! Who 
would  ever  think  of  such  a thing  ? Who  would  want  to 
spoil  his  life,  and  not  to  make  use  of  what  there  is  ? 
Have  you  heard,  our  company  will  go  to  Vozdvizhen- 
skaya ? ” 

“ Hardly.  I was  told  that  Company  Eight  is  going,” 
said  014nin. 

“ No,  I have  received  a letter  from  the  adjutant.  He 
writes  that  the  prince  himself  will  be  in  the  expedition. 
I am  glad  of  it,  — I shall  see  him.  I am  beginning  to 
be  bored  here.” 

“ They  say  there  will  be  an  incursion  soon.” 

“ I have  not  heard  it ; but  I have  heard  that  Krinovitsyn 
got  an  Anna  decoration  for  services  in  an  excursion.  He 
expected  a lieutenancy,”  said  Byeletski,  laughing.  “ That 
was  a disappointment  to  him.  He  has  gone  to  see  the 
staff  about  it  — ” 

It  was  growing  dark,  and  Olenin  began  to  think  of  the 
evening  party.  The  invitation  tormented  him.  He  wanted 
to  go,  but  the  thought  of  what  was  going  to  happen  there 
seemed  to  him  strange,  preposterous,  and  a little  terrifying. 
He  knew  that  there  would  be  there  no  Cossacks,  no  old 
women,  but  only  girls.  What  would  happen  there  ? How 


222 


THE  COSSACKS 


was  he  to  conduct  himself  ? What  was  he  to  say  ? What 
would  they  say  ? What  relations  were  there  between 
him  and  those  wild  Cossack  girls  ? Byeletski  had  been 
telling  him  of  such  strange,  cynical,  and  at  the  same  time 
strict  relations  — It  was  strange  to  him  to  think  that 
he  would  be  there  in  one  room  with  Maryanka,  and  that, 
perhaps,  he  would  have  to  speak  to  her.  This  seemed 
impossible  to  him  whenever  he  recalled  her  majestic  bear- 
ing. Byeletski  had  told  him  that  all  that  was  quite 
simple.  “ Is  it  possible  Byeletski  would  treat  Maryanka 
in  the  same  manner  ? It  would  be  interesting/’  he  thought. 
“ No,  I had  better  not  go.  All  this  is  vile,  and  contempt- 
ible, and,  above  all,  leads  to  nothing.”  But  again  the 
question  tormented  him : “ What  will  it  be  ? ” and  he  was 
to  a certain  extent  bound  by  his  promise.  He  went,  still 
undecided  what  to  do,  but  upon  reaching  Byel4tski’s  he 
stepped  in. 

The  cabin  in  which  Byeletski  lived  was  just  like 
Olenin’s.  It  was  raised  on  posts  about  six  feet  from  the 
ground,  and  consisted  of  two  rooms.  In  the  first,  which 
Olenin  reached  by  a steep  little  staircase,  lay  feather  beds, 
rugs,  quilts,  and  pillows,  beautifully  and  elegantly  piled 
up  against  each  other  in  Cossack  fashion  along  the  front 
wall.  On  the  side  walls  hung  brass  basins  and  weapons ; 
under  the  bench  lay  watermelons  and  pumpkins.  In  the 
second  room  was  a large  oven,  a table,  benches,  and  Dis- 
senter images.  Here  Byeletski  had  his  lodgings,  with 
his  folding  bed,  travelling  portmanteaus,  rug,  on  which 
his  weapons  were  hanging,  and  with  toilet  articles  and 
portraits  scattered  about  the  table.  A silk  dressing-gown 
was  flung  upon  a bench.  Byeletski  himself,  handsome 
and  clean,  lay  in  his  underwear  on  the  bed,  reading  “ Les 
Trois  Mousquetaires.” 

Byeletski  jumped  up. 

“ You  see  how  I am  fixed  ? Fine  ? I am  glad  you 
have  come.  They  have  been  working  terribly.  Do  you 


THE  COSSACKS 


223 


know  what  a pie  is  made  of  ? Of  dough,  with  lard  and 
grapes.  But  that  is  not  the  point.  Just  see  how  busy 
they  are ! ” 

Indeed,  as  they  looked  out  of  the  window,  they  saw 
an  unusual  turmoil  in  the  landlady’s  cabin.  The  girls 
kept  running  in  and  out  of  the  vestibule,  with  one  thing 
or  another. 

“ Will  it  be  soon  ? ” cried  Byel^tski. 

“ Right  away  ! Are  you  starved,  grandfather  ? ” and 
melodious  laughter  was  heard  in  the  cabin. 

Ustenka,  plump,  red-cheeked,  pretty,  with  rolled  up 
sleeves,  ran  into  Byeletski’s  room  to  fetch  the  plates. 

“ Keep  away ! I almost  broke  the  plates,”  she  shrieked 
at  Byel^tski.  “ You  had  better  go  and  help  us,”  she  cried, 
laughing,  at  Olenin.  “ And  get  the  cakes  and  candy  for 
the  girls.” 

“ Has  Maryanka  come  ? ” asked  Byel^tski. 

“ Of  course.  She  brought  some  dough.” 

“ Do  you  know,”  said  Byeletski,  “ if  one  were  to  dress 
up  this  Ustenka,  and  clean  her  up  a little,  and  primp  her, 
she  would  be  more  beautiful  than  any  of  our  beauties. 
Have  you  seen  the  Cossack  woman  Bdrshchev  ? She 
married  a colonel.  Superb ! What  dignite  ! Where  did 
they  get  it  all  — ” 

“ I have  not  seen  Mrs.  Borshchev ; but,  in  my  opinion, 
there  can  be  nothing  more  beautiful  than  this  attire.” 

“ Ah,  I can  so  easily  adapt  myself  to  any  life ! ” said 
Byeletski,  drawing  a sigh  of  delight.  “ I will  go  and  take 
a look  at  what  they  are  doing.” 

He  put  on  his  dressing-gown,  and  ran  out. 

“ You  take  care  of  the  refreshments  ! ” he  cried. 

Olenin  sent  Byel^tski’s  orderly  for  cake  and  honey. 
It  seemed  so  detestable  to  him  to  give  money,  as  though 
he  were  bribing  some  one,  that  he  did  not  give  any  definite 
answer  to  the  orderly’s  question,  “ How  many  peppermint- 
cakes,  and  how  many  honey-cakes  ? ” 


224 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ I leave  it  to  you.” 

“ For  all  this  money  ? ” the  old  soldier  asked,  significantly, 
“ Peppermint-cakes  cost  more.  They  sell  them  at  sixteen 
kopeks.” 

“ For  all  the  money,  for  all,”  said  Olenin,  sitting  down 
at  the  window  and  wondering  why  it  was  his  heart  was 
fluttering  as  though  he  were  preparing  himself  to  do  some- 
thing important  but  bad. 

He  heard  shouting  and  screaming  in  the  room  where 
the  girls  were,  the  moment  By&etski  had  entered  there, 
and  a few  minutes  later  he  saw  him  jump  out  from  it  and 
run  down  the  stairs,  accompanied  by  shrieks,  laughter, 
and  a general  hubbub. 

“ They  have  driven  me  out,”  he  said. 

A few  minutes  later,  Ustenka  came  into  the  room  and 
solemnly  invited  the  guests,  announcing  that  everything 
was  ready. 

When  they  entered  the  room,  they  really  found  every- 
thing ready,  and  Ustenka  was  arranging  the  feather  pil- 
lows against  the  wall.  On  the  table,  which  was  covered 
with  a disproportionately  small  napkin,  stood  a decanter 
of  red  wine  and  some  dried  fish.  The  room  was  redolent 
with  pastry  and  grapes.  Some  six  girls,  in  holiday  half- 
coats and  with  bare  heads,  contrary  to  the  common  rule, 
were  keeping  in  the  corner  behind  the  oven,  whispering, 
laughing,  and  giggling. 

“ I beg  you  humbly  to  honour  my  patron  saint,”  said 
Ustenka,  inviting  the  guests  to  the  table. 

Olenin  had  discovered  Maryanka  in  the  crowd  of  girls, 
who  were  all  without  exception  beautiful,  and  he  felt 
annoyed  and  pained  because  he  made  her  closer  acquaint- 
ance under  such  awkward  and  detestable  circumstances. 
He  felt  foolish  and  uncomfortable,  and  decided  to  follow 
Byel&ski’s  example.  Byel^tski  went  up  to  the  table 
somewhat  solemnly,  but  with  ease  and  self-confidence, 
drank  a glass  to  Ustenka’s  health,  and  invited  the  rest  to 


THE  COSSACKS 


225 


do  likewise.  Ustenka  declared  that  the  girls  did  not 
drink. 

“ With  honey  we  could/’  said  a voice  in  the  crowd  of 
the  girls. 

The  orderly,  who  had  just  returned  from  the  shop  with 
the  honey  and  the  refreshments,  was  called  in.  The 
orderly  glanced  with  a scowl,  partly  of  envy,  and  partly 
of  contempt,  at  the  gentlemen,  who,  in  his  opinion,  were 
having  a celebration,  carefully  and  scrupulously  turned 
over  the  piece  of  the  honeycomb  and  the  cakes  which 
were  wrapped  in  gray  paper,  and  began  to  expatiate  on 
the  cost  of  the  articles,  and  the  change  he  had  brought 
back ; but  Byel^tski  drove  him  away. 

After  mixing  the  honey  with  the  wine  in  the  glasses, 
and  lavishly  scattering  the  three  pounds  of  cakes  on  the 
table,  Byel^tski  pulled  the  girls  out  of  the  comer  by  force, 
put  them  down  at  the  table,  and  began  to  distribute  the 
cakes  among  them. 

Olenin  involuntarily  noticed  how  Maryanka’s  small 
sunburnt  hand  took  hold  of  two  round  peppermint  and 
one  honey  cake,  and  how  she  was  in  doubt  what  to  do 
with  them.  The  conversation  was  constrained  and  cheer- 
less, in  spite  of  Ustenka’s  and  Byel&ski’s  vivacity,  and 
their  attempts  to  cheer  up  the  company.  Olenin  was 
embarrassed,  brooded  over  something  to  say,  and  felt  that 
he  was  rousing  their  curiosity,  perhaps  provoking  their 
ridicule,  and  communicating  his  bashfulness  to  the  others. 
He  blushed,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  Maryanka  in  par- 
ticular was  ill  at  ease. 

“No  doubt  they  are  waiting  for  us  to  give  them  some 
money,”  he  thought.  “ How  are  we  going  to  do  it  ? Let 
us  give  it  to  them  as  soon  as  possible  and  go ! ” 


XXV. 


“ How  is  it  you  do  not  know  your  lodger  ? ” said  Bye- 
l^tski,  turning  to  Maryanka. 

“ How  am  I to  know  him  if  he  never  comes  to  see  us  ? ” 
said  Maryanka,  casting  a glance  upon  Olenin. 

Olenin  was  startled,  and  his  face  was  flushed.  He 
answered,  without  knowing  himself  what  he  was  saying : 
“ I am  afraid  of  your  mother.  She  scolded  me  so  the  first 
time  I called  at  your  house.” 

Maryanka  laughed  out  loud. 

“ So  you  were  scared  ? ” she  said,  glancing  at  him,  and 
turning  her  head  away. 

That  was  then  the  first  time  Olenin  had  seen  the  whole 
face  of  the  beautiful  girl,  for  heretofore  he  had  seen  it 
only  wrapped  in  a kerchief  down  to  her  eyes.  There  was 
good  reason  why  she  was  regarded  as  the  most  beautiful 
girl  in  the  village.  Ustenka  was  a pretty  girl,  petite, 
plump,  ruddy,  with  laughing  hazel  eyes,  with  an  eternal 
smile  on  her  rosy  lips,  for  ever  giggling  and  prattling. 
Maryanka,  on  the  contrary,  was  by  no  means  pretty,  she 
was  a beauty ! Her  features  might  have  appeared  too 
masculine  and  almost  coarse,  had  it  not  been  for  her  tall, 
stately  form,  and  her  powerful  chest  and  shoulders,  and 
chiefly  for  the  stern  and  yet  gentle  expression  of  her  wide 
black  eyes,  surrounded  by  a deep  shadow  beneath  black 
brows,  and  for  the  gentle  expression  of  her  mouth  and  of 
her  smile.  She  rarely  smiled,  but  her  smile  was  so  much 
the  more  effective.  She  exhaled  virgin  strength  and 
health.  All  the  girls  were  pretty ; but  they  themselves, 

226 


THE  COSSACKS 


227 


and  Byel^tski,  and  the  orderly  who  had  brought  the  cakes, 
all  could  not  help  looking  at  Maryanka,  and  when  they 
addressed  the  girls,  they  turned  to  her  in  particular.  She 
appeared  as  a proud  and  happy  queen  among  the  rest. 

Byel^tski  endeavoured  to  maintain  the  decorum  of  the 
evening  entertainment.  He  chattered  without  cessation, 
urged  the  girls  to  pass  the  wine,  joked  with  them,  and 
continually  made  improper  remarks  to  Olenin  in  French 
about  Maryanka’s  beauty,  calling  her  “ yours,”  la  vdtre , 
and  inviting  him  to  follow  his  example.  014nin  felt 
more  oppressed.  He  was  thinking  of  an  excuse  to  walk 
out  and  run  away,  when  Byel^tski  proclaimed  that 
Ustenka,  who  was  celebrating  her  name-day,  should  pass 
the  wine  with  kisses.  She  consented,  but  with  the  con- 
dition that  money  should  be  placed  on  her  plate,  as  this  is 
done  at  weddings. 

“ The  devil  has  brought  me  to  tills  abominable  feast ! ” 
Olenin  said  to  himself,  and  he  arose,  intending  to  leave. 

“ Where  are  you  going  ? ” 

“ I want  to  fetch  the  tobacco,”  he  said,  intending  to 
run,  but  Byel^tski  caught  hold  of  his  hand. 

“ I have  some  money,”  he  said  to  him  in  French. 

“ There  is  no  getting  away  ; I shall  have  to  pay,”  Olenin 
thought,  and  he  was  annoyed  at  his  awkwardness.  “ Why 
can’t  I do  the  same  as  ByeMtski  does  ? I ought  not  to 
have  come ; but  having  come,  I ought  not  to  spoil  their 
pleasure.  I must  drink  in  Cossack  fashion.”  Saying 
this,  he  seized  a wooden  bowl  that  contained  about  eight 
glasses,  filled  it  with  wine,  and  almost  drained  it.  The 
girls  looked  at  him  in  amazement  and  almost  in  terror, 
while  he  was  drinking.  Ustenka  passed  around  one  glass 
more  to  both  of  them,  and  kissed  them. 

“ Girls,  we  will  have  a good  time  now,”  she  said,  jin- 
gling on  her  plate  the  four  silver  roubles  which  they  had 
placed  there. 

Olenin  was  no  longer  ill  at  ease.  He  became  talkative. 


228 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ Now,  you,  Maryanka,  pass  around  the  wine  with 
kisses,”  said  Byel^tski,  seizing  her  hand. 

“ That  is  the  kind  of  kiss  I will  give  you,”  she  said, 
raising  her  hand  in  jest,  as  though  to  strike  him. 

“ You  may  kiss  the  little  grandfather  without  money,” 
said  another  girl. 

“You  are  a clever  girl!”  said  Byel^tski,  kissing  the 
maiden,  who  was  struggling  to  get  away.  “ No,  you 
pass  the  wine,”  insisted  Byel4tski,  turning  to  Marydnka. 
“ Pass  it  to  your  lodger  ! ” 

He  took  her  hand,  led  her  up  to  the  bench,  and  seated 
her  at  Olenin’s  side. 

“ What  a beauty  ! ” he  said,  turning  her  head  so  as  to 
show  her  profile. 

Maryanka  made  no  resistance,  but,  smiling  proudly, 
surveyed  Olenin  with  her  wide  eyes. 

“ She  is  a beauty ! ” repeated  Byel^tski. 

“ Am  I not  a beauty  ? ” Maryanka’s  glance  seemed  to 
say.  Without  being  conscious  of  what  he  was  doing, 
Olenin  embraced  Maryanka,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
kissing  her.  She  suddenly  tore  herself  away,  tripped  up 
Byeletski,  pulled  things  down  from  the  table,  and  jumped 
to  the  oven.  There  were  shouts  and  laughter.  Byeletski 
whispered  something  to  the  girls,  and  suddenly  they  all 
rushed  out  of  the  room  into  the  vestibule,  and  locked  the 
door. 

“ Why  did  you  kiss  Byeletski,  and  won’t  kiss  me  ? ” 
asked  Olenin. 

“ I just  don’t  want  to,  and  that  is  all,”  she  answered, 
twitching  her  lower  lip  and  her  brows.  “ He  is  the  little 
grandfather,”  she  added,  smiling.  She  went  up  to  the 
door  and  began  to  knock  at  it.  “ What  did  you  lock  it 
for,  you  devils  ? ” 

“ Well,  let  them  be  there,  and  we  will  stay  here,”  said 
Oi4nin,  approaching  her. 

She  frowned,  and  pushed  him  sternly  away  from  her. 


THE  COSSACKS 


229 


And  again  she  appeared  to  Olenin  so  majestic  and  beauti- 
ful that  he  came  to  his  senses  and  felt  ashamed  of  what 
he  had  done.  He  walked  up  to  the  door  and  tried  to  pull 
it  open. 

“ Byel^tski,  open  the  door  ! What  stupid  jokes  ! ” 

Maryanka  again  laughed  her  bright,  happy  laugh. 

“ Are  you  afraid  of  me  ? ” she  asked. 

" You  are  just  as  cross  as  your  mother.,, 

“ You  ought  to  sit  more  with  Eroshka,  then  the  girls 
would  like  you  better,”  she  said,  smiling,  and,  walking  up 
to  him,  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes. 

He  did  not  know  what  to  say. 

“ And  if  I were  to  visit  you  ? ” he  said,  suddenly. 

“ That  would  be  different,”  she  said,  shaking  her  head. 

Just  then  Byel^tski  pushed  the  door  open,  and  Mar- 
yanka darted  away  from  Olenin,  and  in  doing  so  her  hip 
struck  his  leg. 

“ It  is  all  rubbish  what  I have  been  thinking  heretofore 
about  love,  and  self-renunciation,  and  Lukashka.  There 
is  but  one  kind  of  happiness,  and  he  who  is  happy  is 
right.”  This  thought  flashed  through  Olenin’s  mind,  and, 
with  a force  which  he  had  not  suspected  in  himself,  he 
seized  beautiful  Maryanka,  and  kissed  her  temple  and 
cheek.  Maryanka  did  not  become  angry,  but  only  burst 
out  laughing,  and  ran  out  to  the  other  girls. 

The  evening  party  ended  with  this.  The  old  woman, 
Ustenka’s  mother,  who  had  just  returned  from  her  field 
labour,  scolded  all  the  girls,  and  drove  them  away. 


XXVI. 


“ Yes,”  thought  Olenin,  on  his  way  home,  “I  only  need 
to  give  myself  free  rein,  in  order  to  be  desperately  in  love 
with  this  Cossack  girl.” 

He  went  to  bed  with  these  feelings ; he  thought  that 
all  this  would  pass  away,  and  he  would  return  to  his  old 
life.  But  the  old  life  did  not  return.  His  relations  to 
Maryanka  were  changed.  The  wall  which  had  separated 
them  before  was  torn  down.  Olenin  now  exchanged 
greetings  with  her  every  time  they  met. 

When  the  landlord  arrived  in  order  to  receive  the 
money  for  the  lodgings,  and  learned  of  Olenin’s  wealth 
and  liberality,  he  invited  him  to  his  house.  The  old 
woman  received  him  kindly,  and  since  the  day  of  the 
evening  entertainment  Olenin  frequently  went  in  to  see 
them,  and  on  these  occasions  stayed  until  night.  Appar- 
ently his  life  in  the  village  ran  as  of  old,  but  in  his  heart 
everything  had  completely  changed.  He  passed  his  days 
in  the  forest,  but  about  eight  o'clock,  when  it  began  to 
grow  dark,  he  generally  went  over  to  the  ensign's  house, 
alone,  or  with  Uncle  Eroshka.  The  people  became  so 
accustomed  to  him  that  they  wondered  whenever  he  did 
not  come. 

He  paid  well  for  his  wine,  and  was  a peaceful  man. 
Vanyusha  would  bring  him  his  tea.  He  would  seat  him- 
self in  the  corner  near  the  oven.  The  old  woman  was 
not  embarrassed  by  his  presence,  and  went  on  with  her 
work ; and  they  chatted  over  their  tea  and  over  their 
wine  about  Cossack  affairs,  about  their  neighbours,  and 

230 


THE  COSSACKS 


231 


about  Russia,  of  which  Olenin  told  them  in  reply  to  their 
questions. 

At-dimes  he  would  take  a book  and  read  to  himself. 
Maryanka,  as  wild  as  a goat,  would  draw  up  her  feet  and 
sit  on  the  oven  or  in  a dark  corner.  She  did  not  take 
part  in  the  conversation,  but  Olenin  saw  her  eyes  and 
face,  heard  her  moving,  and  cracking  seeds,  and  felt  that 
she  listened  with  all  her  being  when  he  spoke,  and  he 
was  conscious  of  her  presence  when  he  was  reading  in 
silence.  At  times  it  seemed  to  him  that  her  eyes  were 
directed  upon  him,  and  when  he  caught  their  sparkle,  he 
involuntarily  grew  silent,  and  gazed  upon  her.  Then  she 
would  hide  herself,  and  he,  pretending  to  be  interested 
in  his  conversation  with  the  old  woman,  listened  to  her 
breathing,  to  every  motion  of  hers,  and  again  awaited  her 
glance.  In  the  presence  of  others  she  generally  was 
cheerful  and  pleasant  to  him,  but  when  she  was  left  alone 
with  him,  she  grew  incommunicative  and  rude.  Some- 
times he  came  to  see  them  when  Maryanka  had  not  yet 
returned  from  the  street ; suddenly  her  firm  steps  could 
be  heard,  and  her  blue  chintz  shirt  flashed  by  the  open 
door.  She  would  walk  into  the  middle  of  the  room  and 
notice  his  presence,  — and  a faint  smile  of  recognition 
would  appear  on  her  lips,  and  he  would  be  overcome  by 
a sensation  of  happiness  and  terror. 

He  asked  nothing,  wished  nothing  of  her,  but  with 
every  day  her  presence  became  more  and  more  a necessity 
to  him. 

Olenin  became  so  accustomed  to  the  life  of  the  village, 
that  the  past  appeared  to  him  as  something  quite  foreign, 
and  the  future,  especially  outside  of  the  world  he  lived  in, 
did  not  interest  him  at  all.  When  he  received  letters 
from  home,  from  relatives  and  friends,  he  felt  aggrieved 
because  they  mourned  him  as  a lost  man,  whereas  he,  in 
his  village,  regarded  those  as  lost  who  did  not  lead  the 
life  he  was  leading.  He  was  convinced  that  he  should 


232 


THE  COSSACKS 


never  regret  his  having  torn  himself  away  from  his 
former  life,  and  his  living  this  peculiar  life  in  the  seclu- 
sion of  his  village.  He  was  happy  in  expeditions  and  in 
the  fortresses  ; but  only  here,  under  Uncle  Eroshka’s  wing, 
in  his  forest,  in  his  cabin  on  the  outskirt  of  the  village, 
but  especially  at  the  thought  of  Maryanka  and  Lukashka, 
he  clearly  discerned  the  whole  he  of  his  former  life,  which 
had  provoked  him  even  there,  but  which  only  now  ap- 
peared inexpressibly  contemptible  and  ridiculous  to  him. 

Here  he  felt  himself  each  day  more  and  more  free,  and 
more  a man.  The  Caucasus  presented  itself  to  him  quite 
differently  from  what  he  had  imagined  it  to  be.  He  had 
found  nothing  resembling  all  his  dreams  and  all  the 
descriptions  of  the  Caucasus  of  which  he  had  heard  or 
read. 

“ There  are  here  no  chestnut  steeds,  no  cataracts,  no 
Amalat-beks,  no  heroes,  and  no  brigands,”  he  thought. 
“ People  live  here  as  does  Nature ; they  die,  they  are 
born,  they  pair,  again  they  are  born,  they  fight,  they 
drink,  they  eat,  they  have  pleasure,  and  again  they  die, 
and  there  are  no  conditions,  except  those  unchangeable 
ones  which  Nature  has  imposed  upon  the  sun,  the  grass, 
the  beasts,  and  the  trees.  They  have  no  other  laws.” 

For  this  very  reason  these  people  appeared  to  him, 
compared  with  himself,  so  beautiful,  strong,  and  free,  and 
gazing  upon  them,  he  felt  ashamed  of  himself  and  sad. 
He  often  seriously  considered  throwing  up  everything, 
enrolling  himself  as  a Cossack,  buying  a cabin  and  cattle, 
and  marrying  a Cossack  maiden,  — not  Maryanka,  whom 
he  had  renounced  in  favour  of  Lukashka,  — and  living 
with  Uncle  Eroshka,  fishing  and  hunting  with  him,  and 
going  on  expeditions  with  the  Cossacks. 

“ Why  don't  I do  that  ? What  am  I waiting  for  ? ” 
he  asked  himself.  And  he  egged  himself  on  and  put 
himself  to  shame : “ Am  I afraid  to  do  that  which  I my- 
self have  found  to  be  sensible  and  just?  Is  the  desire  to 


THE  COSSACKS 


233 


be  a simple  Cossack,  to  live  close  to  Nature,  to  do  no  one 
any  harm,  but,  on  the  contrary,  to  do  people  some  good, 
— is  the  dream  of  all  this  more  stupid  than  the  dreams  I 
used  to  have,  — for  example,  to  be  a minister,  or  a gen- 
eral?" 

But  a voice  told  him  to  wait,  and  not  to  be  in  a hurry. 
He  was  restrained  by  a dim  consciousness  that  he  could 
not  live  entirely  Eroshka’s  and  Lukashka’s  life,  because 
his  happiness  was  of  a different  nature,  — he  was  re- 
strained by  the  thought  that  happiness  consisted  in  self- 
renunciation.  His  act  toward  Lukashka  did  not  cease  to 
give  him  pleasure.  He  continually  searched  for  oppor- 
tunities to  sacrifice  himself  for  others,  but  these  opportuni- 
ties did  not  present  themselves.  At  times  he  forgot  this 
newly  discovered  recipe  for  happiness,  and  considered 
himself  capable  of  living  entirely  Erbshka’s  life ; but  then 
he  would  suddenly  come  to  his  senses  again,  and  cling 
once  more  to  the  thought  of  conscious  self-renunciation, 
and  on  the  basis  of  this  thought  he  would  calmly  and 
proudly  look  upon  all  people  and  upon  the  happiness  of 
others. 


XXVII. 


Before  the  vintage,  Lukashka  came  on  horseback  to 
see  Olenin.  He  looked  even  more  dashing  than  usual. 

"Well,  are  you  going  to  get  married  ?”  014nin  asked, 
giving  him  a warm  reception. 

Lukashka  gave  no  direct  answer. 

“ You  see,  I have  swapped  off  your  horse  across  the 
river.  This  is  a horse ! It  is  a Kabarda  horse  from  Lov’s 
stud  Tavro.  I can  tell  a good  horse.” 

They  examined  the  new  steed,  and  made  him  go  through 
various  evolutions  in  the  yard.  He  was  indeed  an  uncom- 
monly good  animal ; he  was  a bay  gelding,  broad  and  long, 
with  the  glossy  hair,  bushy  tail,  and  soft,  delicate  mane  and 
withers  of  a thoroughbred.  He  was  so  plump  that  one 
could  go  to  sleep  on  his  back,  as  Lukashka  expressed  it. 
His  hoofs,  eyes,  and  teeth  were  as  delicate  and  sharply 
outlined  as  they  only  are  in  horses  of  the  purest  breed. 
Olenin  could  not  help  admiring  the  horse.  He  had  not 
seen  such  a beauty  in  the  Caucasus. 

“ And  how  he  rides  ! ” said  Lukashka,  patting  his  neck. 
“ What  a canter ! And  he  is  so  intelligent ! He  follows 
his  master.” 

" Did  you  give  much  to  boot  ? ” asked  Olenin. 

" I did  not  count,”  replied  Lukashka,  smiling.  “ I got 
it  from  a chum.” 

“ It  is  a wonderfully  fine  horse ! How  much  will  you 
take  for  it  ? ” asked  Olenin. 

“ I was  offered  one  hundred  and  fifty  roubles,  but  I will 
give  him  to  you  for  nothing,”  Lukashka  said,  merrily. 

234 


THE  COSSACKS 


235 


“ Say  the  word,  and  you  shall  have  him.  I will  take  off 
the  saddle,  and  you  may  take  him.” 

“ No,  under  no  condition.” 

“ Well,  then  I have  brought  you  a memento,”  said  Lu- 
k&shka,  ungirding  himself,  and  taking  down  one  of  the 
two  daggers  that  were  stuck  in  the  belt.  “ I got  it  beyond 
the  river.” 

“ Thank  you  ! ” 

“ Mother  told  me  she  would  herself  bring  you  some 
grapes.” 

“ That  is  not  necessary,  for  we  will  square  up  accounts 
some  day.  I am  not  going  to  give  you  any  money  for  it.” 
“ How  could  that  be  among  chums  ? Gir£y-khan,  the 
one  across  the  river,  took  me  to  his  house,  and  told  me  to 
select  any  I pleased.  So  I took  this  sabre.  Such  is  the 
custom  among  us.” 

They  went  into  the  room  and  took  a drink. 

“Well,  are  you  going  to  stay  here  awhile?”  asked 
Olenin. 

“ No,  I have  come  to  say  farewell.  They  are  sending 
me  away  from  the  cordon  to  a company  beyond  the 
T4rek.  I am  leaving  to-day  with  friend  Nazarka.” 

“ And  when  will  the  wedding  be  ? ” 

“ I will  soon  come  down  here  for  the  betrothal,  and 
then  back  again  to  my  duty,”  Lukashka  replied,  reluc- 
tantly. 

“ How  is  that  ? Will  you  not  go  in  to  see  your  bride  ? ” 
“ No  ! What’s  the  use  of  looking  at  her  ? When  you 
are  out  on  a campaign,  ask  at  our  company  for  Lukashka 
the  Broad.  There  are  a lot  of  wild  boars  there ! I have 
killed  two  myself.  I will  show  you  the  place.” 

“ Well,  good-bye  ! Christ  preserve  you  ! ” 

Lukashka  mounted  his  horse,  and,  without  showing 
himself  to  Maryanka,  made  some  evolutions  as  he  rode 
out  into  the  street,  where  Nazarka  was  already  waiting 
for  him. 


236 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ Well  ? Sha’n’t  we  go  in  ? ” asked  Nazarka,  winking 
in  the  direction  where  Yamka  lived. 

“ Here/'  said  Lukashka,  “ take  my  horse  over  to 
her  place,  and  if  I am  not  back  for  a long  time, 
give  him  some  hay.  In  the  morning  I will  be  in  the 
company.” 

“ Didn’t  the  yunker  give  you  another  present  ? ” 

“ No ! I am  glad  I got  off  with  a dagger,  for  he  was 
beginning  to  ask  for  the  horse,”  said  Lukashka,  dismount- 
ing and  turning  the  horse  over  to  Nazarka. 

He  darted  into  the  yard  under  Olenin’s  very  window, 
and  went  up  to  the  window  of  the  ensign’s  cabin.  It  was 
quite  dark.  Maryanka,  in  nothing  but  her  shirt,  was 
combing  her  braid,  previous  to  going  to  bed. 

“ It  is  I,”  whispered  the  Cossack. 

Marydnka’s  face  bore  an  austerely  indifferent  expres- 
sion, but  it  suddenly  grew  animated  the  moment  she 
heard  her  name.  She  raised  the  window,  and  leaned  out 
of  it,  with  an  expression  of  fear  and  joy. 

“ What  is  it  ? What  do  you  want  ? ” she  said. 

“ Open  the  door  ! ” said  Lukashka.  “ Let  me  in  for  a 
little  while ! It  is  dreadfully  dull  without  you ! ” 

He  took  her  head  in  his  arms,  through  the  window, 
and  kissed  it. 

“ Really,  open  the  door  ! ” 

“ What  is  the  use  of  speaking  foolish  things ! I told 
you  I will  not  let  you  in.  Are  you  here  for  long  ? ” 

He  did  not  answer,  and  only  kept  kissing  her.  And 
she  was  satisfied. 

“You  see,  it  is  not  so  easy  to  hug  you  through  the 
window,”  said  Lukashka. 

“ Maryanushka ! ” was  heard  the  old  woman’s  voice, 
“Who  is  there  with  you?” 

Lukashka  took  off  his  cap  so  as  not  to  be  recognized, 
and  crouched  under  the  window. 

“ Begone  at  once  ! ” whispered  Maryanka. 


THE  COSSACKS 


237 


“ Lukashka  was  here,”  she  replied  to  her  mother.  “ He 
was  asking  for  father.” 

“ Well,  send  him  here  ! ” 

“ He  is  gone.  He  said  he  had  no  time.” 

Indeed,  Lukashka,  bending  down,  ran  with  rapid  steps 
from  the  window,  and  out  of  the  yard,  and  away  to 
Ydmka’s ; none  but  Olenin  had  seen  him.  After  drink- 
ing about  two  howls  of  wine,  he  and  Nazarka  rode  out  of 
the  village.  The  night  was  warm,  dark,  and  calm.  They 
rode  in  silence,  and  only  the  thud  of  the  horses’  hoofs 
was  heard.  Lukashka  started  a song  about  Cossack 
Mingal,  but,  without  finishing  the  first  verse,  he  stopped 
and  turned  to  Nazarka. 

“ You  know  she  did  not  let  me  in ! ” he  said. 

“ Oh  ! ” exclaimed  Nazarka.  “ I knew  she  would  not 
let  you  in.  Do  you  know  what  Yamka  told  me  ? She 
said  the  yunker  is  now  keeping  company  with  her. 
Uncle  Eroshka  was  bragging  that  he  got  a fowling-piece 
from  the  yunker  for  getting  him  Maryanka.” 

“ He  is  lying,  the  devil ! ” Lukashka  said,  angrily.  “ She 
is  not  that  kind  of  girl.  But  I will  smash  the  ribs  of  the 
old  devil,”  and  he  started  his  favourite  song. 

“ From  the  village  it  was,  from  Izmdylovo, 

From  the  well-loved  garden  of  the  nobleman, 

There  a clear-eyed  falcon  from  the  garden  flew ; 

And  right  after  him  a young  huntsman  rode, 

And  the  clear-eyed  falcon  to  his  right  hand  he  called. 

The  clear -eyed  falcon  gave  this  answer : 

< You  did  not  know  how  to  keep  me  in  the  golden  cage, 

Nor  knew  how  to  hold  me  in  your  right  hand, 

So  now  I will  fly  to  the  blue  sea  ; 

There  I myself  will  kill  the  white  swan, 

And  of  the  swan’s  sweet  flesh  I will  have  my  fill/  ” 


XXVIII. 


The  ensign  was  celebrating  the  betrothal.  Lukashka 
was  in  the  village,  but  did  not  call  on  014nin.  Olenin 
himself  did  not  go  to  the  celebration,  to  which  the  ensign 
had  invited  him.  He  felt  sadder  than  he  had  felt  since 
his  arrival  in  the  village.  He  saw  Lukashka,  in  his  best 
attire,  walk  in  the  evening  with  his  mother  to  the  ensign’s, 
and  he  was  tormented  by  the  thought  that  Lukashka  was 
cold  to  him.  Olenin  shut  himself  up  in  his  room,  and 
began  to  write  his  diary. 

“ I have  thought  much  and  changed  much  of  late,” 
wrote  Olenin,  “and  I have  reached  the  truth  which  is 
written  in  the  ABC  book.  In  order  to  be  happy,  I must 
do  this  one  thing,  — love,  and  love  with  self-renunciation, 
love  all  and  everything,  and  spread  on  all  sides  the  spider- 
web of  love  : I must  take  all  who  fall  into  it.  Thus  I have 
taken  Vanyusha,  Uncle  Eroshka,  Lukashka,  Maryanka.” 

As  014nin  was  finishing  this  sentence,  Uncle  Eroshka 
came  in  to  see  him.  Eroshka  was  in  the  happiest  frame 
of  mind.  When  calling  upon  him  one  evening  a few  days 
before,  Olenin  found  him  in  his  yard  engaged,  with  a 
happy  and  proud  mien,  in  deftly  flaying  the  carcass  of 
a wild  boar  with  a small  knife.  His  dogs,  and  among 
them  his  favourite  Lyam,  were  lying  about,  softly  wag- 
ging their  tails,  and  looking  at  his  work.  The  urchins 
respectfully  watched  him  from  over  the  fence,  and  did  not 
even  tease  him,  as  was  their  custom.  The  women  of  his 
neighbourhood,  who  were  not  as  a rule  especially  kind  to 
him,  saluted  him,  and  brought  him,  one  a little  jug  of  red 

238 


THE  COSSACKS 


239 


wine,  another  some  boiled  cream,  and  a third  some  pastry. 
The  next  morning  Eroshka  was  sitting  in  his  shed,  all 
covered  with  blood,  and  selling  wild  boar  meat  by  the 
pound,  either  for  money,  or  for  wine.  On  his  face  it  was 
written,  “ God  has  given  me  luck,  and  I have  killed  a 
wild  boar ; now  everybody  needs  the  uncle.”  In  conse- 
quence of  this  he,  naturally,  took  to  drinking,  and  this 
was  the  fourth  day  of  his  spree,  during  which  he  had  not 
left  the  village.  In  addition  to  this,  he  had  been  drinking 
at  the  betrothal. 

Uncle  Erdshka  came  away  from  the  ensign’s  cabin 
dead  drunk,  with  a flushed  face,  and  dishevelled  beard,  but 
in.  a new  red  half-coat,  embroidered  with  galloons,  and 
with  a gourd  balalayka,  which  he  had  brought  with  him 
from  across  the  river.  He  had  long  ago  promised  Oldnin 
this  pleasure,  and  was  now  in  the  proper  mood  for  it. 
When  he  saw  that  Oldnin  was  busy  writing,  he  was 
disappointed. 

“ Write,  write,  my  father,”  he  said,  in  a whisper,  as 
though  supposing  that  a spirit  was  sitting  between  him 
and  the  paper,  and,  fearing  to  disturb  him,  he  sat  down 
noiselessly  and  softly  on  the  floor.  Olenin  cast  a look  at 
him,  ordered  some  wine,  and  continued  to  write.  It  was 
dull  for  Eroshka  to  drink  alone.  He  wanted  to  chat. 

“ I have  been  to  the  betrothal  at  the  ensign’s.  But 
they  are  swine ! I don’t  want  them ! And  so  I came 
here.” 

“ Where  did  you  get  that  balalayka  ? ” asked  Olenin, 
continuing  to  write. 

“ I went  across  the  river,  my  father,  and  got  the  bala- 
layka,” he  said,  in  just  as  soft  a voice.  “ I am  a great 
hand  at  playing.  I can  play  Tartar,  Cossack,  gentlemen’s, 
soldiers’  songs,  any  you  may  wish.” 

Olenin  glanced  at  him  a second  time,  smiled,  and  con- 
tinued to  write. 

His  smile  encouraged  the  old  mam 


240 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ Throw  it  away,  my  father ! Throw  it  away ! ” he 
suddenly  exclaimed,  resolutely.  “ Well,  suppose  they 
have  insulted  you ! Give  them  up,  spit  at  the  whole 
affair ! What  are  you  writing  and  writing  for  ? What 
sense  is  there  ? ” 

And  he  mocked  Olenin,  tapping  his  stout  fingers  on 
the  floor,  and  screwing  his  puffed-up  face  into  a contemp- 
tuous grimace. 

“ What  is  the  use  of  writing  documents  ? Celebrate, 
and  you  will  be  a fine  fellow ! ” 

About  writing  his  head  could  form  no  other  conception 
than  that  it  was  for  some  dangerous  pettifoggery. 

Olenin  burst  out  laughing,  and  so  did  Eroshka.  He 
sprang  up  from  the  floor,  and  began  to  show  off  his  art  of 
playing  his  balalayka  and  singing  Tartar  songs. 

“ What  is  the  use  writing,  my  good  man ! You  will 
do  better  to  listen  to  what  I will  sing  to  you ! When 
you  are  dead,  you  will  not  hear  any  songs.  Celebrate  ! ” 

At  first  he  sang  a song  of  his  own  composition,  with 
dancing  accompaniment : 

“ A di-di-di-di-di-li, 

Did  you  see  him  ? Where  was  he  ? 

In  the  market  in  a store, 

Selling  pins  by  the  score.’’ 

Then  he  sang  a song  which  his  former  sergeant  had 
taught  him : 

“ On  Monday  in  love  I fell, 

All  Tuesday  I suffered  woe, 

On  Wednesday  I to  her  did  tell, 

On  Thursday  was  no  answer,  though. 

On  Friday  came  her  reply, 

Not  to  wait  for  any  joy. 

And  on  Saturday  I swore 
That  on  earth  I’d  live  no  more ; 

But  on  Sunday  changed  my  mind,  — 

Cast  my  sorrow  to  the  wind.” 


THE  COSSACKS 


241 


And  again : 

“ A di-di-di-di-di-li, 

Did  you  see  him  ? Where  was  he  ? M 

Then,  winking,  twitching  his  shoulders,  and  dancing,  he 
sang: 

“ I will  kiss  thee,  will  embrace  thee, 

With  red  ribbons  will  I lace  thee, 

Hope  I’ll  name  thee,  — hope  to  me  ! 

Dost  thou  love  me  faithfully  ? ” 

And  he  became  so  excited  that  he  posed  in  dashing 
attitudes,  playing  his  instruments  all  the  while,  and 
started  whirling  over  the  room. 

“ Di-di-li,”  and  other  gentlemen’s  songs  he  sang  only 
for  Olenin.  Later  in  the  evening,  when  he  had  drunk 
another  three  glasses  of  red  wine,  he  recalled  bygone 
days,  and  sang  genuine  Cossack  and  Tartar  songs.  In 
the  middle  of  one  of  his  favourite  songs,  his  voice  sud- 
denly quivered,  and  he  grew  silent,  continuing  only  to 
strum  his  balalayka. 

“ Ah  ! my  dear  friend  ! ” he  said. 

Olenin  turned  his  eyes  upon  him,  when  he  heard  the 
strange  sound  of  his  voice : the  old  man  was  weeping. 
Tears  stood  in  his  eyes,  and  one  tear  trickled  down  his 
cheek. 

“ Gone  is  my  youth,  it  will  never  return,”  he  said,  sob- 
bing, and  grew  silent.  “ Drink  ! Why  don’t  you  drink  ? ” 
he  suddenly  shouted,  in  his  deafening  voice,  without 
wiping  away  his  tears. 

He  was  stirred  more  especially  by  a mountain  song. 
There  were  but  few  words  in  it,  and  the  whole  charm 
consisted  in  the  melancholy  refrain,  “ Ay  ! Day  ! Dalalay  ! ” 
Erdshka  translated  the  words  of  the  song : 

“ The  young  brave  took  his  plunder  from  the  village 
into  the  mountain ; the  Russians  came,  burnt  the  vil- 
lage, killed  all  the  men,  and  took  all  the  women  prisoners. 


242 


THE  COSSACKS 


The  young  brave  returned  from  the  mountains : where 
) he  village  had  been  was  a waste ; his  mother  was  not ; 
his  brothers  were  not ; his  house  was  not ; one  tree  alone 
was  standing.  The  brave  sat  down  under  the  tree  and 
wept : ‘ Alone,  like  thee,  alone  am  I left ! * and  the  brave 
began  to  sing,  ‘ Ay  ! Day  ! Dalalay  ! ’ ” 

And  this  moaning,  heartrending  refrain  the  old  man 
repeated  several  times. 

Having  finished  the  last  refrain,  Eroshka  suddenly 
seized  the  gun  from  the  wall,  darted  out  into  the  yard, 
and  fired  off  both  barrels  into  the  air.  And  he  sang 
again,  more  mournfully  still,  “ Ay  ! Day  ! Dalalay  a-a ! ” 
and  stopped. 

014nin  had  followed  him  out  on  the  porch,  and  was 
silently  gazing  at  the  dark,  starry  heaven,  in  the  direction 
where  the  fire  from  the  gun  had  flashed.  The  ensign’s 
house  was  lighted  up,  and  voices  were  heard  there.  In 
the  yard  a bevy  of  girls  were  crowding  near  the  porch 
and  the  windows,  and  running  from  the  dairy  to  the  ves- 
tibule. A few  Cossacks  rushed  out  of  the  vestibule  and, 
unable  to  restrain  themselves,  gave  the  war-cry,  to  express 
their  approbation  of  Uncle  Eroshka’s  refrain  and  shots. 

“ Why  are  you  not  at  the  betrothal  ? ” asked  Olenin. 

“ God  be  with  them ! God  be  with  them  1 ” said  the 
old  man,  who  had  evidently  been  offended  there  in  some 
manner.  “ I do  not  like  them ! I do  not  like  them ! 
Ah,  what  a people ! Let  us  go  into  the  room  ! They  are 
celebrating  by  themselves,  and  we  by  ourselves.” 

Olenin  returned  to  his  room. 

“ Well,  and  is  Lukashka  happy  ? Will  he  not  come  to 
see  me  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Lukashka  ? People  have  told  him  a lie : they  have 
told  him  that  I had  brought  the  girl  to  you,”  said  the  old 
man,  in  a whisper.  “ The  girl  ? She  will  be  ours,  if  we 
want  her ; give  more  money,  and  she  will  be  ours  ! I will 
do  it  for  you,  truly  I will.” 


THE  COSSACKS 


243 


“ No,  uncle,  money  will  not  accomplish  anything,  if  she 
does  not  love.  You  had  better  not  speak  of  it.” 

“ We  are  both  disliked,  — we  are  orphans,”  suddenly 
said  Uncle  Eroshka,  and  again  burst  into  tears. 

Olenin  drank  more  than  usual,  while  listening  to  the 
old  man’s  stories. 

“ Now,  my  Lukashka  is  happy,”  he  thought ; but  he 
was  sad.  The  old  man  was  so  drunk  that  evening 
that  he  fell  down  on  the  floor,  and  Vanyusha  had  to 
call  in  the  aid  of  some  soldiers,  and  then  use  all  his 
strength  to  drag  him  out.  He  was  so  furious  at  the  old 
man  for  his  bad  behaviour  that  he  did  not  say  anything 
in  French. 


XXIX. 


It  was  the  month  of  August.  For  several  days  in 
succession  there  had  not  been  a cloud  in  the  sky.  The 
sun’s  heat  was  intolerable,  and  from  early  morning  blew  a 
hot  wind,  raising  clouds  of  burning  sand  from  the  dunes 
and  the  roads,  and  carrying  it  in  the  air  over  the  reeds, 
trees,  and  villages.  The  grass  and  the  leaves  of  the  trees 
were  covered  with  dust ; the  roads  and  salt  marshes  were 
dry,  and  sounded  hollow  when  trod  upon.  The  water  in 
the  T&ek  had  been  low  for  a long  time,  and  it  rapidly  dis- 
appeared and  dried  up  in  the  ditches.  The  miry  shore  of 
the  pond  near  the  village,  all  trampled  up  by  the  cattle, 
looked  bare,  and  the  whole  day  long  could  be  heard  the 
splashing  and  shouting  of  the  boys  and  girls  in  the 
water. 

In  the  steppe  the  dunes  and  reeds  were  drying  up,  and 
the  cattle,  lowing  during  the  day,  ran  away  into  the  fields. 
The  wild  animals  had  wandered  away  into  distant  reeds, 
and  into  the  mountains  beyond  the  T4rek.  Gnats  and 
little  flies  hovered  in  swarms  over  the  lowlands  and  vil- 
lages. The  snow-capped  mountains  were  shrouded  in  gray 
mist.  The  air  was  rare  and  ill-smelling.  Abr4ks  were 
said  to  have  forded  the  shoaling  river,  and  to  be  galloping 
on  this  side.  The  sun  set  each  evening  in  a fiery  red 
glow. 

It  was  the  busiest  time  of  the  year.  The  whole  popu- 
lation of  the  villages  swarmed  in  the  melon  fields  and  in 
the  vineyards.  The  gardens  were  wildly  overgrown  with 
twining  verdure  that  afforded  a cool,  dense  shade.  From 

244 


THE  COSSACKS 


245 


all  sides  could  be  seen  the  heavy  clusters  of  ripe  black 
grapes  amidst  the  broad  sunlit  leaves.  Over  the  dusty 
roads,  which  led  to  the  gardens,  slowly  proceeded  the 
squeaking  ox-carts,  loaded  to  the  top  with  the  black 
grapes.  On  the  dusty  road  lay  clusters  that  were  crushed 
by  the  wheels.  Little  boys  and  girls,  in  shirts  soiled  with 
grape-juice,  ran  after  their  mothers,  with  bunches  in  their 
hands  and  mouths.  On  the  road  one  constantly  met 
ragged  labourers,  carrying  on  their  powerful  shoulders 
wicker  baskets  full  of  grapes. 

Girls,  wrapped  in  kerchiefs  up  to  the  eyes,  led  the  oxen 
that  were  hitched  to  the  heavily  laden  carts.  Soldiers, 
meeting  the  Cossack  girls,  asked  them  for  some  grapes, 
and  they,  climbing  upon  the  carts,  while  they  were  in 
motion,  would  take  large  handfuls  and  throw  them  into 
the  soldiers’  outstretched  coat  flaps. 

In  some  yards  they  were  already  pressing  the  grapes. 
The  air  was  redolent  with  the  grape-skins.  Blood-red 
troughs  could  be  seen  under  the  sheds,  and  Nogay  la- 
bourers, with  their  trouser  legs  rolled  up  and  their  calves 
stained,  were  to  be  seen  in  the  yards.  The  pigs  snorted  as 
they  feasted  on  the  skins,  and  wallowed  in  them.  The 
flat  roofs  of  the  dairies  were  thickly  covered  with  dark, 
amber  clusters  drying  in  the  sun.  Crows  and  magpies, 
picking  up  the  seeds,  pressed  close  to  the  roofs,  and  flitted 
from  place  to  place. 

The  fruits  of  the  year’s  labours  were  joyfully  gathered, 
and  the  fruit  of  the  year’s  harvest  was  uncommonly 
abundant  and  good. 

In  the  shady  green  vineyards,  amidst  a sea  of  grape- 
vines, on  all  sides  sounded  laughter,  songs,  merriment, 
feminine  voices,  and  flashed  by  the  bright,  coloured  dresses 
of  women. 

Precisely  at  noon,  Maryanka  was  sitting  in  her  garden, 
in  the  shade  of  a peach-tree,  and  taking  out  a dinner  for 
the  family  from  the  unhitched  cart.  In  front  of  her,  the 


246 


THE  COSSACKS 


ensign,  who  had  returned  from  his  school,  was  sitting  on 
a horse-blanket  that  was  spread  on  the  ground,  and  wash- 
ing his  hands  by  pouring  water  upon  them  from  a small 
pitcher.  Her  little  brother,  who  had  just  come  up  from 
the  pond,  and  was  wiping  his  face  with  his  sleeves,  was 
restlessly  watching  his  sister  and  his  mother,  in  expecta- 
tion of  the  dinner,  and  panting  heavily. 

The  old  mother,  with  sleeves  rolled  up  over  her  sun- 
burnt arms,  was  placing  grapes,  dried  fish,  boiled  cream, 
and  bread  on  a low,  round  Tartar  table.  Having  wiped 
his  hands,  the  ensign  doffed  his  cap,  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross,  and  moved  up  to  the  table.  The  boy  grasped  the 
pitcher  and  began  to  drink  eagerly.  The  mother  and 
the  daughter,  drawing  their  feet  under  them,  sat  down 
at  the  table. 

But  the  heat  was  also  insufferable  in  the  shade.  There 
was  a stench  in  the  air  over  the  garden.  The  strong, 
warm  wind,  which  blew  through  the  branches,  did  not 
bring  any  freshness,  but  only  monotonously  waved  the 
tops  of  the  pear,  peach,  and  mulberry  trees  that  were 
scattered  through  the  gardens.  The  ensign,  having  said 
another  prayer,  brought  out  from  behind  his  back  a jug 
of  red  wine  that  was  covered  with  a grape-vine  leaf,  and 
having  drunk  from  the  mouth  of  it,  handed  it  to  the 
old  woman.  The  ensign  wore  nothing  but  his  shirt, 
which  was  open  at  the  neck  and  disclosed  his  muscular 
and  hairy  chest.  His  thin,  cunning  face  was  cheerful. 
Neither  his  attitude  nor  his  speech  betrayed  his  custom- 
ary shrewdness : he  was  happy  and  natural. 

“ Shall  we  finish  up  with  the  strip  behind  the  shed 
this  evening  ? ” he  asked,  wiping  his  wet  beard. 

We  shall,  if  only  the  weather  will  hold.  The 
D^mkins  have  not  yet  harvested  one-half,”  she  added, 
“tjstenka  alone  is  working,  and  she  is  killing  herself.” 

“ What  else  did  you  expect  ? ” the  old  man  said,  proudly. 

“Here,  take  a drink,  Marydnushka ! ” said  the  old 


THE  COSSACKS 


247 


woman,  passing  the  jug  to  the  girl.  “ Now,  if  God  will 
grant  ^t,  we  shall  have  the  money  with  which  to  celebrate 
your  wedding,1 ” said  the  old  woman. 

“ That’s  ahead  yet,”  said  the  ensign,  slightly  frowning. 

The  girl  lowered  her  head. 

“ But  why  not  speak  of  it  ? ” said  the  old  woman.  “ The 
affair  has  been  settled,  and  the  time  is  not  far  off.” 

“ Don’t  talk  of  the  future,”  again  said  the  ensign. 
“ Now  is  the  time  for  harvesting.” 

“ Have  you  seen  Lukashka’s  new  horse  ? ” asked  the 
old  woman.  “ The  one  Dmitri  Andreevich  had  given  him, 
he  has  no  longer;  he  has  swapped  him  off.” 

“ No,  I have  not  seen  him.  I have  been  talking  to- 
day with  the  lodger’s  servant,”  said  the  ensign.  “ He 
says  he  has  again  received  a thousand  roubles.” 

“ A rich  man,  in  short,”  the  old  woman  confirmed  his 
statement. 

The  whole  family  was  happy  and  contented. 

The  work  proceeded  satisfactorily.  There  was  a greater 
abundance  of  grapes  than  usual,  and  they  were  better 
than  they  had  expected. 

Having  eaten  her  dinner,  Maryanka  gave  the  oxen 
some  grass,  folded  her  half-coat  under  her  head,  and  lay 
down  under  the  cart,  on  the  trampled,  succulent  grass. 
She  was  clad  in  nothing  but  a red  silk  kerchief  on  her 
head,  and  a faded  blue  chintz  shirt ; but  she  felt  intoler- 
ably hot.  Her  face  was  burning ; her  legs  moved  rest- 
lessly ; her  eyes  were  covered  with  a film  of  sleep  and 
weariness;  her  lips  opened  involuntarily,  and  her  breast 
heaved  high  and  heavily. 

The  harvest-time  had  begun  two  weeks  ago,  and  the 
hard,  uninterrupted  work  had  occupied  all  the  life  of 
the  young  girl.  She  jumped  up  from  bed  with  the  dawn, 
washed  her  face  in  cold  water,  wrapped  herself  with  a 
kerchief,  and  ran  barefooted  to  the  cattle.  She  hastily 
put  on  her  shoes  and  her  half-coat,  and,  tying  some  bread 


248 


THE  COSSACKS 


in  a bundle,  hitched  the  oxen,  and  went  for  the  whole  day 
to  the  vineyard.  There  she  rested  but  one  hour  ; she  cut 
the  grapes  and  carried  the  baskets,  and  in  the  evening, 
merry  and  not  at  all  tired,  she  returned  to  the  village, 
leading  the  oxen  by  a rope,  and  urging  them  on  with 
a long  stick.  After  housing  the  cattle  in  the  twilight, 
she  filled  her  wide  shirt-sleeve  with  seeds,  and  went  to 
the  corner  to  laugh  with  the  girls.  But  the  moment  the 
evening  glow  gave  place  to  darkness,  she  walked  back  to 
the  house,  and,  having  eaten  her  supper  in  the  dark  dairy, 
with  her  father,  her  mother,  and  her  little  brother,  she 
walked  into  the  room,  free  from  cares  and  healthy,  and 
seated  herself  on  the  oven  and,  half-dozing,  listened  to 
the  lodger’s  conversation.  The  moment  he  left,  she  threw 
herself  down  on  the  bed,  and  slept  until  morning  a quiet, 
sound  sleep.  The  next  day  was  the  same.  She  had  not 
seen  Lukashka  since  the  betrothal,  and  she  quietly 
awaited  the  day  of  her  wedding.  She  was  now  accus- 
tomed to  the  lodger,  and  it  gave  her  pleasure  to  feel  his 
steady  glance  resting  upon  her. 


XXX. 


Though  it  was  impossible  to  find  a comfortable  place 
in  the  heat,  and  the  gnats  were  circling  in  swarms  in  the 
cool  shade  of  the  cart,  and  the  boy,  tossing,  kept  pushing 
her,  Maryanka  drew  her  kerchief  over  her  head,  and  was 
going  to  sleep,  when  Ustenka,  her  neighbour,  suddenly 
came  running  to  her  and,  darting  under  the  cart,  lay 
down  alongside  her. 

“Now,  sleep,  girls,  sleep!”  said  Ustenka,  finding  a 
place  under  the  cart.  “ Hold  on,”  she  exclaimed,  “ that 
will  not  do  ! ” 

She  jumped  up,  broke  off  some  green  branches,  placed 
them  against  the  wheels  of  the  cart,  and  threw  a half-coat 
over  them. 

“Let  me  in,”  she  called  out  to  the  little  boy,  again 
crawling  under  the  cart.  “ Cossacks  ought  not  to  stay 
with  the  girls ! Go  ! ” 

When  Ustenka  was  left  all  alone  with  her  friend  under 
the  cart,  she  suddenly  began  to  hug  Maryanka  with  both 
her  arms,  and,  pressing  close  to  her,  began  to  kiss  her 
cheeks  and  neck. 

“ My  dear  one  ! My  sweetheart ! ” she  said,  breaking 
out  into  her  delicate,  ringing  laughter. 

“ I declare,  you  have  learned  this  from  the  little  grand- 
father,” replied  Maryanka,  warding  her  off.  “ Come,  stop 
it!” 

And  both  of  them  burst  out  laughing  so  that  the 
mother  scolded  them. 

“ Are  you  jealous  ? ” Ustenka  said,  in  a whisper. 

249 


250 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ Don’t  talk  nonsense ! Let  me  sleep ! What  did  you 

come  for  ? ” 

/ 

But  Ustenka  would  not  quiet  down. 

“ I want  to  tell  you  something  ! ” 

Maryanka  raised  herself  on  her  elbow,  and  adjusted 
the  kerchief  that  had  slipped  down. 

“ What  is  it  ? ” 

“ I know  something  about  your  lodger.” 

“ There  is  nothing  to  know,”  replied  Maryanka. 

“ You  are  a sly  girl ! ” said  Ustenka,  nudging  her  with 
her  elbow,  and  laughing.  “ Won’t  you  tell  me  anything  ? 
Does  he  come  to  see  you  ? ” 

“ Yes.  What  of  it  ? ” said  Maryanka,  suddenly  blush- 
ing. 

“ Now,  I am  a simple  girl,  and  will  tell  everybody. 
Why  should  I hide  it?”  said  Ustenka,  and  her  gay, 
ruddy  face  assumed  a pensive  expression.  “ Am  I doing 
anybody  any  harm  ? I love  him,  that’s  all ! ” 

“ The  little  grandfather,  you  mean  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ That  is  sinful ! ” replied  Maryanka. 

“ 0 Maryanka ! When  is  one  to  have  a good  time, 
if  not  while  one  has  a girl’s  freedom  ? When  I marry 
a Cossack,  I shall  begin  bearing  children,  and  know  what 
cares  are.  Now,  you  just  marry  Lukashka,  then  you 
won’t  have  joy  in  your  mind ; but  there  will  be  children, 
and  work.” 

“ What  of  it  ? Some  are  quite  happy  when  married. 
It  does  not  make  much  difference ! ” Maryanka  answered, 
calmly. 

“ Do  tell  me,  what  has  there  been  between  you  and 
Lukashka  ? ” 

“ What  ? He  sent  go-betweens.  Father  put  it  off  for 
a year;  but  there  has  been  a betrothal,  and  in  the 
autumn  I am  to  be  married.” 

“ What  did  he  say  to  you  ? ” 


THE  COSSACKS 


251 


Maryanka  smiled. 

“ What  they  always  say.  He  said  he  loved  me ! He 
kept  asking  me  to  go  to  the  garden  with  him.,, 

“ Just  like  pitch ! I guess  you  did  not  go  ! What  a 
fine  fellow  he  is  now ! A first-class  brave ! He  is  all 
the  time  celebrating  at  the  company.  The  other  day  our 
Kirka  came  down,  and  told  me  what  a horse  he  had 
swapped  off ! I suppose  he  feels  lonely  for  you.  What 
else  did  he  say  ? ” Ustenka  asked  Maryanka. 

“ You  want  to  know  everything,”  laughed  Maryanka. 
“ He  once  rode  up  in  the  night  to  the  window,  — he  was 
drunk.  He  asked  me  to  let  him  in.” 

“ Well,  and  you  did  not  let  him  in  ?” 

“ Let  him  in ! When  I once  say  no,  that's  the  end 
of  it ! I am  as  firm  as  a rock,”  Maryanka  replied, 
seriously. 

“ He  is  a fine  fellow ! Let  him  only  want  it,  and  no 
girl  will  disdain  him  ! ” 

“ Let  him  go  to  other  girls,”  Maryanka  answered, 
proudly. 

“ Are  you  not  sorry  for  him  ? ” 

“ I am,  but  I will  commit  no  folly.  That  is  wrong.” 

Ustenka  suddenly  lowered  her  head  on  her  friend’s 
breast,  embraced  her  with  both  her  hands,  and  shook 
with  laughter  that  was  choking  her. 

“ You  are  a stupid  fool ! ” she  said,  out  of  breath. 
“ You  do  not  want  any  happiness,”  and  again  she  began 
to  tickle  Maryanka. 

“ Oh,  stop ! ” said  Maryanka,  screaming  through  her 
laughter.  “ You  have  crushed  Lazutka.” 

“ Just  look  at  the  devils ! What  fun ! Stop  it ! ” was 
heard  the  drowsy  voice  of  the  old  woman  beyond  the 
cart. 

“ You  do  not  want  any  happiness,”  repeated  tJstenka, 
in  a whisper,  half  sitting  up.  “And  you  are  a lucky 
girl,  upon  my  word!  How  you  are  loved!  You  are 


252 


TJIE  COSSACKS 


pockmarked,  but  you  are  loved.  Ah,  if  I were  in  your 
place,  I would  twist  that  lodger  around  my  little  finger ! 
I watched  him  when  you  were  at  our  house ; he  looked  as 
though  he  would  eat  you  with  his  eyes.  My  little  grand- 
father has  given  me  a lot  of  things ! But  yours,  you 
know,  is  the  richest  among  the  Russians.  His  orderly 
said  that  they  had  serfs  of  their  own/’ 

Maryanka  arose,  and  smiled,  pensively. 

“ This  is  what  he,  the  lodger,  once  told  me,”  she  said, 
biting  a blade  of  grass.  “ He  said,  ‘ I should  like  to  be 
Cossack  Lukashka,  or  your  little  brother,  Lazutka.’  What 
did  he  say  that  for  ? ” 

“ He  was  just  saying  anything  that  came  into  his 
head,”  replied  Ustenka.  “ Mine  does  say  such  a lot  of 
things  ! Like  a crazy  man  ! ” 

Maryanka  fell  with  her  head  on  the  folded  half-coat, 
threw  her  arm  around  Ustenka’s  shoulder,  and  closed 
her  eyes. 

“ He  wanted  to  come  to-day  to  the  vineyard  to  work. 
Father  invited  him,”  she  said,  after  a moment’s  silence, 
and  fell  asleep. 


XXXI. 


The  sun  had  now  come  out  from  behind  the  pear-tree 
that  shaded  the  cart,  and,  with  its  ^slanting  rays  that 
passed  through  the  arbour  which  Ustenka  had  built, 
burnt  the  faces  of  the  girls  who  were  sleeping  under  the 
cart.  Maryanka  awoke,  and  began  to  arrange  her  kerchief. 
As  she  looked  around,  she  saw  the  lodger  beyond  the 
pear-tree,  standing  with  his  gun  on  his  shoulder  and 
speaking  with  her  father.  She  gave  Ustenka  a push, 
and,  smiling,  pointed  silently  to  him. 

“ I went  out  yesterday,  but  did  not  find  one,”  said 
Olenin,  restlessly  looking  all  about  him,  but  not  discover- 
ing Maryanka  behind  the  branches. 

“ You  had  better  go  to  that  district,  which  you  will 
reach  by  going  along  the  circumference ; there,  in  the 
neglected  garden,  which  is  called  a wilderness,  you  will 
always  find  some  hares,”  said  the  ensign,  at  once  chang- 
ing his  language. 

“ Who  would  think  of  hunting  the  hare  in  vintage 
time!  You  would  do  better  if  you  came  to  help  us! 
Come  and  work  with  the  girls  ! ” said  the  old  woman. 
“ Come  now,  girls,  ^get  up ! ” she  cried. 

Maryanka  and  Ustenka  were  whispering  to  each  other, 
and  could  not  keep  from  laughing  under  the  cart. 

Ever  since  it  had  become  known  that  Olenin  had  pre- 
sented Lukashka  with  a horse  worth  fifty  roubles,  the 
ensign  and  his  wife  had  been  more  friendly  to  him; 
the  ensign,  in  particular,  was  pleased  with  his  closer 
friendship  with  his  daughter. 

263 


254 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ I do  not  know  how  to  work,”  said  Olenin,  trying  not 
to  look  through  the  green  branches  under  the  cart,  where 
he  had  espied  Maryanka’s  blue  shirt  and  red  kerchief. 

“ Come  along,  I will  give  you  some  peaches,”  said  the 
old  woman. 

“ As  is  the  old  Cossack  hospitality,  and  mere  woman's 
foolishness,”  said  the  ensign,  explaining  and,  as  it  were, 
correcting  the  words  of  the  old  woman.  “ In  Russia, 
I suppose,  you  have  eaten  for  your  pleasure  not  so  much 
peaches  as  pineapple  preserves  and  jams.” 

“ So  there  are  some  hares  in  the  neglected  garden  ? ” 
asked  Olenin.  “ I will  go  down  there,”  and,  casting  a 
cursory  glance  through  the  green  branches,  he  lifted  his 
cap  and  disappeared  between  the  regular  green  rows  of 
the  vineyard. 

The  sun  was  hidden  behind  the  enclosures  of  the  gar- 
dens, and  its  scattered  rays  were  gleaming  through  the 
translucent  leaves,  when  Olenin  returned  to  the  ensign’s 
vineyard.  The  wind  had  subsided,  and  a fresh  coolness 
was  wafted  through  the  vineyards.  Even  from  a distance 
Olenin  instinctively  recognized  Maryanka’s  blue  shirt 
through  the  rows  of  the  grape-vines,  and,  picking  off 
grapes,  he  walked  up  to  her.  His  panting  dog  also  now 
and  then  tore  off  a low  hanging  bunch  with  his  dripping 
mouth.  With  flushed  face,  rolled  up  sleeves,  and  the 
kerchief  falling  below  her  chin,  Maryanka  deftly  cut  the 
heavy  clusters  and  laid  them  down  in  wicker  baskets. 
Without  letting  the  vine,  which  she  was  holding,  out  of 
her  hands,  she  stopped,  smiled  graciously,  and  again  went 
to  work.  Olenin  went  up  to  her,  and  slung  his  gun  over 
his  back,  so  as  to  have  his  hands  free. 

“ Where  are  your  people  ? God  aid  you  ! Are  you 
alone  ? ” was  what  he  wanted  to  say,  but  he  said  nothing, 
and  only  raised  his  cap.  He  did  not  feel  at  ease  when 
he  was  left  alone  with  Maryanka,  but  he  walked  over  to 
her,  as  though  to  torment  himself. 


THE  COSSACKS 


255 


“You  will  kill  a woman  yet,  carrying  the  gun  that 
way,”  Maryanka  said. 

“No,  I won’t ! ” 

They  were  both  silent. 

“ You  had  better  help  me.” 

He  drew  out  his  pocket-knife  and  began  to  cut  off  the 
clusters  in  silence.  He  fetched  out  from  underneath 
some  leaves  a heavy,  solid  bunch,  weighing  about  three 
pounds,  in  which  the  grapes  were  crowding  each  other 
into  flattened  shapes,  and  he  showed  it  to  Maryanka. 

“ Shall  I cut  them  all  ? This  one  is  still  green.” 

“ Give  it  to  me  ! ” 

Their  hands  met.  Olenin  took  hers,  and  she  glanced 
at  him,  smiling. 

“ Well,  so  you  are  going  to  get  married  soon  ? ” he  said. 
She  did  not  answer,  but,  turning  away  from  him,  gave 
him  a stern  look  from  her  eyes. 

“ Do  you  love  Lukashka  ? ” 

“ What  is  that  to  you  ? ” 

“ I am  jealous.” 

“What  of  it?” 

“ Really,  you  are  such  a beauty  ! ” 

And  he  suddenly  had  terrible  scruples  for  having  said 
it.  His  words,  he  thought,  sounded  so  detestable.  He 
flushed,  lost  his  composure,  and  took  both  her  hands. 

“ Such  as  I am,  I am  not  for  you ! What  are  you 
laughing  about  ? ” replied  Maryanka,  but  her  glance 
showed  conclusively  that  she  knew  he  was  not  laughing. 
“ Laughing  ? If  you  only  knew  how  I — - ” 

His  words  sounded  even  more  detestable,  and  less  in 
accord  with  his  feelings ; but  he  continued,  “ I can’t  tell 
what  I should  be  willing  to  do  for  you  — ” 

“ Keep  away,  you  stick  to  me  like  pitch.” 

But  her  face,  her  sparkling  eyes,  her  swelling  bosom, 
her  shapely  legs,  said  something  quite  different.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  she  understood  perfectly  how  detestable  every- 


256 


THE  COSSACKS 


thing  was  that  he  had  said,  but  that  she  was  above  all 
such  considerations ; it  seemed  to  him  that  she  had  long 
known  all  he  wished  to  say,  but  could  not,  and  that  she 
only  wanted  to  know  how  he  would  say  it  all.  And  how 
could  she  help  knowing  it,  since  he  wished  to  tell  her 
all  she  herself  was  ? “ She  does  not  want  to  understand, 

she  does  not  want  to  answer,”  he  thought. 

“ Hallo ! ” suddenly  was  heard,  not  far  beyond  the 
vineyard,  Ustenka’s  thin  voice  and  her  delicate  laughter. 
“ Come,  Dmitri  Andreevich,  and  help  me ! I am  all 
alone ! ” she  cried  to  Olenin,  thrusting  her  round,  naive 
little  face  through  the  leaves. 

Olenin  did  not  answer,  nor  stir  from  the  spot. 

Maryanka  continued  to  cut  the  clusters,  but  constantly 
gazed  at  the  lodger.  He  began  to  say  something,  but 
stopped,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and,  shouldering  his  gun, 
walked  out  of  the  garden  with  rapid  strides. 


XXXII. 


Once  or  twice  he  stopped  to  listen  to  the  ringing 
laughter  of  Maryanka  and  Ustenka,  who,  having  come 
together,  were  shouting  something.  Olenin  passed  the 
whole  evening  hunting  in  the  woods.  He  did  not  bag 
anything,  and  returned  home  after  dark.  As  he  crossed 
the  yard,  he  noticed  the  open  door  of  the  dairy,  and  the 
blue  shirt  flashing  by  within.  He  called  unusually  loud 
to  Vanyusha,  to  let  his  arrival  be  known,  and  seated  him- 
self in  his  customary  place  on  the  porch.  The  ensign  and 
his  wife  had  already  returned  from  the  vineyard ; they 
came  out  of  the  dairy,  walked  over  to  their  cabin,  but  did 
not  invite  him  in. 

Maryanka  went  twice  out  of  the  gate.  Once,  in  a half- 
light,  he  thought  she  looked  back  at  him.  He  eagerly 
followed  every  motion  of  hers,  but  could  not  make  up  his 
mind  to  walk  up  to  her.  When  she  had  disappeared  in 
the  cabin,  he  descended  from  the  porch,  and  began  to 
pace  the  yard.  But  Maryanka  did  not  come  out  again. 

Olenin  passed  a sleepless  night  in  the  yard,  listening 
to  every  sound  in  the  ensign’s  cabin.  He  heard  them 
talking  in  the  evening,  then  eating  their  supper,  and 
taking  out  the  cushions,  and  lying  down  to  sleep;  he 
heard  Maryanka  laughing  at  something,  and  then  he  heard 
how  all  the  noises  died  down.  The  ensign  said  some- 
thing in  a whisper  to  his  wife,  and  somebody  breathed 
heavily. 

He  went  to  his  room.  Vanyusha  was  sleeping,  with- 
257 


258 


THE  COSSACKS 


out  being  undressed.  Olenin  envied  him,  and  again  went 
out  promenading  in  the  yard,  all  the  time  waiting  for 
something ; but  nobody  came,  nobody  stirred  ; he  could 
hear  only  the  even  breathing  of  three  people.  He  could 
tell  Maryanka’s  breathing,  and  he  listened  to  it,  and  to 
the  thudding  of  his  own  heart.  Everything  was  quiet 
in  the  village ; the  late  moon  had  risen,  and  he  could  dis- 
cern the  cattle  that  were  panting  in  the  yards,  now  lying 
down,  and  now  slowly  getting  up. 

Olenin  asked  himself,  in  anger,  “ What  do  I want  ? ” 
and  could  not  tear  himself  away  from  the  enticement  of 
the  night.  Suddenly  he  heard  distinct  steps,  and  the 
creaking  of  the  floor  in  the  ensign's  cabin.  He  rushed  to 
the  door;  and  again  nothing  was  heard  but  the  even 
breathing;  and  again,  after  drawing  a deep  breath,  the 
buffalo  turned  around,  rose  on  her  fore  legs,  then  got  com- 
pletely up,  switched  her  tail,  and  something  splashed 
evenly  on  the  dry  clay  of  the  yard,  and  again  she  lay 
down,  with  a groan,  in  the  glamour  of  the  moon  — 

He  asked  himself,  “ What  am  I to  do  ? ” and  took  his 
final  resolve  to  go  to  bed ; but  some  sounds  were  heard 
again,  and  in  his  imagination  rose  the  image  of  Maryanka, 
walking  out  into  the  misty  moonlit  night,  and  again  he 
rushed  to  the  window,  and  again  steps  were  heard. 
Just  before  daybreak  he  walked  over  to  the  window, 
pushed  the  shutter,  ran  up  to  the  door,  and  indeed 
heard  Maryanka’s  deep  breath  and  steps.  He  took 
hold  of  the  latch,  and  knocked.  Cautious,  bare  feet, 
hardly  causing  the  deals  to  creak,  approached  the  door. 
The  latch  was  moved,  the  door  creaked,  an  odour  of  wild 
marjoram  and  pumpkins  was  wafted  to  him,  and  Mar- 
yanka’s whole  figure  appeared  on  the  threshold.  He  saw 
her  but  a moment  in  the  moonlight.  She  slammed  the 
door,  and,  saying  something  under  her  breath,  ran  back 
with  light  steps.  Olenin  began  lightly  to  tap  on  the 
door,  but  there  was  no  answer.  He  ran  up  to  the  window 


THE  COSSACKS 


259 


and  listened.  Suddenly  he  was  struck  by  a shrill,  whining 
voice. 

“ Glorious ! ” said  an  undersized  Cossack  in  a white 
lambskin  cap,  walking  close  up  to  Olenin  from  the  yard, 
“ I have  seen  it  all ! Glorious ! ” 

Olenin  recognized  Nazarka  and  was  silent,  not  knowing 
what  to  do,  or  say. 

“ Glorious  ! I will  go  to  the  village  office  to  report  the 
matter,  and  I will  tell  her  father,  too.  A fine  ensign's 
daughter ! She  is  not  satisfied  with  one.” 

“ What  do  you  want  of  me  ? What  do  you  want  ? ” 
said  Olenin. 

“ Nothing  ! All  I will  do  is  to  report  at  the  office.” 
Nazarka  spoke  in  a very  loud  voice,  evidently  on  pur 
pose. 

“ I declare,  you  are  a'clever  yunker  ! ” 

Olenin  trembled  and  was  pale. 

“ Come  here,  here  ! ” 

He  clutched  his  hand,  and  led  him  up  to  his  cabin. 

“ There  was  nothing.  She  did  not  let  me  in,  and  I did 
nothing  — She  is  virtuous  — ” 

“ Well,  let  them  settle  the  matter,”  said  Nazarka. 

“ I will  give  you  something  all  the  same  — Just  wait ! ” 
Nazarka  was  silent.  Offinin  ran  into  his  cabin,  and 
brought  out  ten  roubles  for  the  Cossack. 

“ There  has  been  nothing  the  matter,  but  I am  to 
blame,  nevertheless ; so  I give  you  this  ! Only,  for  God’s 
sake,  tell  nobody  ! Nothing  has  happened  — ” 

“ Farewell,”  said  Nazarka,  smiling,  and  went  away. 
Nazarka  had  come  that  night  to  the  village,  by  Lu- 
k^shka’s  order,  to  find  a place  for  a stolen  horse,  and,  on 
his  way  home,  heard  the  sound  of  steps.  He  returned  the 
next  morning  to  the  company,  and,  boasting,  told  his  chum 
how  cleverly  he  had  procured  ten  roubles.  The  next 
morning  Offinin  called  at  the  ensign’s,  and  no  one  knew 
anything.  He  did  not  speak  with  Maryanka,  and  she 


260 


THE  COSSACKS 


only  smiled,  looking  at  him.  He  again  passed  a sleepless 
night,  pacing  the  yard  in  vain.  The  following  day  he 
purposely  passed  in  the  woods  hunting,  and  in  the  even- 
ing he  went  to  Byel^tski's,  to  run  away  from  himself.  He 
was  afraid  of  himself,  and  swore  he  would  not  call  again 
at  the  ensign's.  The  following  night  014nin  was  wakened 
by  the  sergeant.  The  company  was  to  make  an  incursion 
at  once.  Olenin  was  rejoiced  at  this  incident,  and  was 
making  up  his  mind  never  again  to  return  to  the  village. 

The  incursion  lasted  four  days.  The  chief  desired  to 
see  Olenin,  to  whom  he  was  related,  and  offered  him  a 
place  on  the  staff.  Olenin  declined  it.  He  could  not 
live  away  from  the  village,  and  asked  to  be  sent  back. 
For  his  work  during  the  campaign  he  received  a soldier's 
cross,  for  which  he  had  been  hankering  before ; but  now 
he  was  quite  indifferent  to  this  decoration,  and  still  more 
indifferent  about  his  advancement  to  the  rank  of  a regular 
officer,  which  was  still  late  in  coming.  He  rode  with 
Vanyusha  down  to  the  line,  without  meeting  with  any 
mishap,  and  by  several  hours  got  the  start  of  his  com- 
pany. Ol&nin  passed  the  whole  evening  on  the  porch, 
looking  at  Maryanka.  The  whole  night  he  again  aim- 
lessly and  thoughtlessly  paced  the  yard. 


XXXIII. 


The  next  morning  Olenin  awoke  late.  The  ensign’s 
family  was  gone.  He  did  not  go  hunting ; he  now  picked 
up  a book,  and  now  walked  out  on  the  porch,  and  again 
walked  into  the  room,  and  lay  down  on  the  bed.  Van- 
yusha thought  he  was  ill.  In  the  evening  Olenin  arose 
with  a full  determination,  took  up  a pen,  and  wrote  until 
late  into  the  night.  He  wrote  a letter,  but  did  not  send 
it  off,  because  no  one  would  have  understood  what  he 
wanted  to  say,  nor  was  there  any  reason  why  any  one  but 
Olenin  should  have  understood  it.  This  is  what  he 
wrote : 

“ I receive  from  Russia  letters  of  sympathy ; people  are 
afraid  that  I will  perish  in  the  wilderness,  where  I have 
buried  myself.  They  say  of  me  : ‘ He  will  lose  his  polish, 
will  fall  behind  in  everything,  will  take  to  drinking,  and, 
what  is  worse,  will  probably  marry  a Cossack  woman. 
There  was  good  reason/  they  say,  ‘for  Ermolov  to  have 
remarked  that  he  who  had  served  ten  years  in  the  Cauca- 
sus would  either  become  a confirmed  drunkard,  or  would 
marry  a dissolute  woman.  How  terrible  ! ’ Indeed,  they 
are  afraid  lest  I should  ruin  myself,  whereas  it  might  have 
been  my  lot  to  have  the  great  fortune  of  becoming  the 

husband  of  Countess  B , a chamberlain,  or  a marshal 

of  the  nobility.  How  contemptible  and  pitiable  you  all 
appear  to  me ! You  do  not  know  what  happiness  nor 
what  life  is ! You  have  first  to  taste  life  in  all  its  artless 
beauty ; you  must  see  and  understand  what  I see  before 
me  each  day  : the  eternal,  inaccessible  snows  of  the  moun- 

261 


262 


THE  COSSACKS 


tains,  and  majestic  woman  in  her  pristine  beauty,  as  the 
first  woman  must  have  issued  from  the  hands  of  her 
Creator,  — and  then  it  will  be  clear  who  it  is  that  is 
being  ruined,  and  who  lives  according  to  the  truth,  you 
or  L 

“ If  you  only  knew  how  detestable  and  pitiable  you  are 
to  me  in  your  delusions ! The  moment  there  rise  before 
me,  instead  of  my  cabin,  my  forest,  and  my  love,  those 
drawing-rooms,  those  women  with  pomaded  hair,  through 
which  the  false  locks  appear,  those  unnaturally  lisping 
lips,  those  concealed  and  distorted  limbs,  and  that  prattle 
of  the  drawing-rooms,  which  pretends  to  be  conversation, 
but  has  no  right  to  be  called  so,  — an  insufferable  feeling 
of  disgust  comes  over  me.  I see  before  me  those  dull  faces, 
those  rich,  marriageable  girls,  with  an  expression  on  the 
face  which  says,  ‘ That’s  all  right,  you  may  — Just  come 
up  to  me,  even  though  I am  a rich,  marriageable  girl;’ 
that  sitting  down  and  changing  of  places ; that  impudent 
pairing  of  people,  and  that  never  ending  gossip  and  hypoc- 
risy ; those  rules  — to  this  one  your  hand,  to  that  one  a 
nod,  and  with  that  one  a chat ; and  finally,  that  eternal 
ennui  in  the  blood,  which  passes  from  generation  to  gen- 
eration (and  consciously  at  that,  with  the  conviction  of 
its  necessity).  You  must  understand,  or  believe  it.  You 
must  see  and  grasp  what  truth  and  beauty  are,  and  every- 
thing which  you  say  and  think,  all  your  wishes  for  your 
own  happiness  and  for  mine,  will  be  dispersed  to  the 
winds.  Happiness  consists  in  being  with  Nature,  in  see- 
ing it,  and  holding  converse  with  it.  ‘ The  Lord  preserve 
him,  but  he  will,  no  doubt,  marry  a Cossack  woman,  and 
will  be  entirely  lost  to  society/  I imagine  them  saying 
about  me,  with  genuine  compassion,  whereas  it  is  pre- 
cisely this  that  I wish : to  be  entirely  lost,  in  your  sense 
of  the  word,  and  to  marry  a simple  Cossack  woman ; I 
dare  not  do  it,  because  that  would  be  the  acme  of  happi- 
ness, of  which  I am  unworthy. 


THE  COSSACKS 


263 


" Three  months  have  passed  since  I for  the  first  time 
saw  the  Cossack  maiden,  Maryanka.  The  conceptions 
and  prejudices  of  the  society  from  which  I had  issued 
were  still  fresh  in  me.  I did  not  believe  then  that  I 
could  fall  in  love  with  this  woman.  I admired  her,  as 
I admired  the  beauty  of  the  mountains  and  of  the  sky, 
nor  could  I help  admiring  her,  for  she  is  as  beautiful  as 
they.  Then  I felt  that  the  contemplation  of  this  beauty 
had  become  a necessity  of  my  life,  and  I began  to  ask 
myself  whether  I did  not  love  her ; but  I did  not  find  in 
myself  anything  resembling  the  feeling  as  I had  imagined 
it  to  be.  This  sentiment  resembled  neither  the  longing 
for  solitude,  nor  the  desire  for  matrimony,  nor  platonic 
love,  still  less  carnal  love,  which  I had  experienced.  I 
had  to  see  and  hear  her,  to  know  that  she  was  near,  and 
I was  not  exactly  happy,  but  calm.  After  an  evening 
party,  which  I had  attended  with  her,  and  at  which  I had 
touched  her,  I felt  that  between  that  woman  and  myself 
existed  an  indissoluble,  though  unacknowledged,  bond, 
against  which  it  would  be  vain  to  struggle.  But  I did 
struggle.  I said  to  myself:  ‘ Is  it  possible  for  me  to  love 
a woman  who  will  never  comprehend  the  spiritual  inter- 
ests of  my  life  ? Can  I love  a woman  for  her  mere  beauty, 
can  I love  a statue  of  a woman  ? ’ I asked  myself,  and  I 
was  loving  her  all  the  time,  though  I did  not  trust  my 
own  sentiment. 

“ After  the  party,  when  I had  spoken  to  her  for  the 
first  time,  our  relations  were  changed,  Before  that  time 
she  was  to  me  a foreign,  but  majestic,  object  of  external 
Nature;  after  the  party,  she  became  a human  being  for 
me.  I have  met  her  and  spoken  with  her ; and  I have 
been  with  her  father  at  work,  and  have  passed  whole 
evenings  in  their  company.  And  in  these  close  relations 
she  has  remained,  to  my  thinking,  just  as  pure,  inacces- 
sible, and  majestic.  To  all  questions  she  has  always 
answered  in  the  same  calm,  proud,  and  gaily  indifferent 


264 


THE  COSSACKS 


manner.  At  times  she  has  been  gracious,  but  for  the 
most  part  every  glance,  every  word,  every  motion  of  hers, 
has  expressed  the  same,  not  contemptuous,  but  repressive 
and  enticing  indifference. 

“ Each  day  I tried,  with  a feigning  smile  on  my  lips,  to 
dissemble,  and,  with  the  torment  of  passion  and  of  desires 
in  my  heart,  I spoke  jestingly  to  her.  But  she  saw  that 
I was  dissembling,  and  yet  looked  gaily  and  simply  at 
me.  This  situation  grew  intolerable  to  me.  I did  not 
wish  to  lie  before  her,  and  wanted  to  tell  her  everything 
I thought  and  everything  I felt.  I was  very  much  ex- 
cited ; that  was  in  the  vineyard.  I began  to  tell  her  of 
my  love,  in  words  that  I am  ashamed  to  recall.  I am 
ashamed  to  think  of  them,  because  I ought  never  to  have 
dared  to  tell  her  that,  and  because  she  stood  immeasur- 
ably above  the  words  and  above  the  feeling  which  I had 
intended  to  express  to  her.  I grq,w  silent,  and  since  that 
day  my  situation  has  been  insufferable.  I did  not  wish 
to  lower  myself,  by  persisting  in  the  former  jocular  rela- 
tions, and  I was  conscious  that  I was  not  yet  ripe  for 
straightforward,  simple  relations  with  her.  I asked  my- 
self in  despair,  ‘ What  shall  I do  ? ’ 

“ In  my  preposterous  dreams  I imagined  her,  now  as 
my  mistress,  and  now  as  my  wife,  and  I repelled  both 
thoughts  in  disgust.  It  would  be  terrible  to  make  a mis- 
tress of  her.  It  would  be  a murder.  And  it  would  be 
still  worse  to  make  a lady  of  her,  the  wife  of  Dmitri 
Andreevich  Olenin,  as  one  of  our  officers  has  made  a lady 
of  a Cossack  girl  of  this  place,  whom  he  has  married.  If 
I could  turn  Cossack,  become  a Lukashka,  steal  herds  of 
horses,  fill  myself  with  red  wine,  troll  songs,  kill  people, 
and  when  drunk  climb  through  the  window  to  pass  the 
night  with  her,  without  asking  myself  who  I am  and 
why  I am,  — it  would  be  a different  matter ; then  we 
could  understand  each  other,  and  I might  be  happy. 

“ I tried  to  abandon  myself  to  such  a life,  but  it  made 


THE  COSSACKS 


265 


me  only  feel  more  strongly  my  weakness,  my  contorted 
existence.  I could  not  forget  myself  and  my  composite, 
inharmonious,  monstrous  past.  And  my  future  presents 
itself  to  me  still  more  disconsolately.  Each  day  the  dis- 
tant snow-capped  mountains  and  that  majestic,  happy 
woman  are  before  me.  But  not  for  me  is  the  only  pos- 
sible happiness  in  the  world ; not  for  me  is  this  woman ! 

“ Most  terrible  and  sweetest  to  me,  in  my  situation, 
was  the  consciousness  that  I understood  her,  while  she 
would  never  understand  me.  She  will  not  understand 
me,  not  because  she  stands  below  me,  but  she  never 
ought  to  understand  me.  She  is  happy ; she  is  like 
Nature,  — even,  calm,  and  herself.  But  I,  weak,  con- 
torted creature,  want  her  to  understand  my  unnaturalness 
and  my  suffering. 

“ I have  passed  sleepless  nights,  and  aimlessly  stood 
under  her  windows,  without  giving  myself  an  account  of 
what  was  going  on  within  me.  On  the  18th,  our  com- 
pany was  called  out  to  make  an  incursion.  I passed 
three  days  outside  the  village.  I was  melancholy,  and 
nothing  interested  me.  The  songs,  the  card-playing,  the 
drinking  bouts,  the  conversations  about  rewards  in  the 
detachment,  were  more  loathsome  to  me  than  ever.  I re- 
turned home  to-day  ; I saw  her,  my  cabin,  Uncle  Eroshka, 
and  the  snow-capped  mountains  from  my  porch,  and  I 
was  seized  by  such  a strong  and  novel  feeling  of  joy,  that 
1 understood  everything.  I love  that  woman  with  a real 
love ; I love  for  the  first  and  only  time  in  my  life.  I 
know  what  the  matter  with  me  is.  I am  not  afraid  to 
lower  myself  through  my  sentiment,  am  not  ashamed  of 
my  love,  but  proud  of  it. 

“ It  is  not  my  fault  that  I have  fallen  in  love.  It 
happened  against  my  will.  I took  refuge  from  my  love 
in  -self -renunciation : I made  myself  believe  that  I took 
delight  in  the  love  of  the  Cossack  Lukashka  for  Maryanka, 
and  I only  fanned  my  love  and  my  jealousy.  This  is  not 


266 


THE  COSSACKS 


an  ideal,  a so-called  exalted  love,  which  I had  experienced 
heretofore ; not  that  feeling  of  transport,  when  a person 
contemplates  his  love,  feels  within  him  the  source  of  his 
sentiment,  and  does  everything  himself.  I have  expe- 
rienced that  also.  This  is  even  less  a desire  for  enjoy- 
ment, — it  is  something  else.  Maybe  in  her  I love 
Nature,  the  personification  of  everything  beautiful  in 
Nature ; but  I have  not  my  own  will,  and  through  me  an 
elementary  force  loves  her,  and  the  whole  world,  all 
Nature,  impresses  this  love  upon  my  soul,  and  says  to  me, 
‘ Love ! ’ I love  her  not  with  my  mind,  not  with  my  imag- 
ination, but  with  my  whole  being.  Loving  her,  I feel 
myself  an  inseparable  part  of  the  whole  blissful  world  of 
the  Lord. 

“ I have  written  you  before  about  my  new  convictions, 
which  I had  carried  away  from  my  solitary  life ; but  no- 
body can  know  with  what  labour  they  were  worked  out 
within  me,  with  what  delight  I hailed  them,  and  how 
happy  I was  to  see  the  new  path  of  life  open  to  me. 
There  was  nothing  more  precious  to  me  than  these  con- 
victions— Well — love  came,  and  they  are  gone,  and 
not  even  the  regrets  for  them  are  left ! It  is  even  difficult 
for  me  to  grasp  how  I could  have  been  carried  away  by 
such  a cold,  one-sided,  mental  mood.  Beauty  came,  and 
all  the  monumental  labour  of  the  mind  is  scattered  to 
the  winds.  I have  not  even  any  regrets  for  what  has 
passed  away ! 

“ Self-renunciation  is  nonsense,  wild  rambling.  It  is 
nothing  but  pride,  a refuge  from  a well-deserved  misfor- 
tune, a salvation  from  envying  another’s  happiness.  To 
live  for  others,  to  do  good  ! Wherefore  ? When  my  soul 
is  filled  with  the  one  love  of  myself,  and  with  the  one 
desire  to  love  her,  and  live  with  her,  to  live  her  life.  I 
now  wish  happiness,  not  for  others,  not  for  Lukashka. 
Now  I do  not  love  these  others.  Formerly  I should  have 
said  that  this  is  bad.  I should  have  tormented  myself 


THE  COSSACKS 


267 


with  the  questions,  ‘ What  will  become  of  her,  of  me,  of 
Lukashka?*  Now  it  is  all  the  same  to  me.  I live  not 
in  myself,  but  there  is  something  stronger  than  myself 
that  guides  me.  I suffer ; but  formerly  I was  dead,  and 
now  only  I live.  I will  call  on  them  to-day,  and  will  tell 
her  everything.,, 


XXXIV. 


Having  finished  the  letter,  014nin  went  late  in  the 
evening  to  the  ensign’s  cabin.  The  old  woman  was 
sitting  on  a bench  behind  the  oven,  unravelling  cocoons. 
Maryanka,  with  bared  head,  was  sewing  by  candle-light. 
When  she  saw  Olenin,  she  sprang  up,  took  her  kerchief, 
and  went  up  to  the  oven. 

“ Stay  with  us,  Maryanushka,”  said  her  mother. 

"No,  I am  bareheaded.”  And  she  leaped  upon  the 
oven. 

Olenin  saw  only  her  knees  and  her  shapely  legs  that 
were  hanging  down.  He  treated  the  old  woman  to  tea, 
and  she  treated  her  guest  to  boiled  cream,  for  which  she 
sent  Maryanka.  Having  placed  the  plate  on  the  table, 
Maryanka  again  leaped  upon  the  oven,  and  014nin  was 
conscious  only  of  her  glance.  They  were  speaking  of 
house  matters.  Mother  Ulltka  unbosomed  herself,  and 
was  in  a mood  of  hospitality.  She  brought  014nin  grape 
preserves,  grape  cake,  and  the  best  wine,  and  she  began  to 
treat  him  with  that  peculiar,  plebeian,  coarse,  and  proud 
hospitality  which  is  found  only  among  people  who  earn 
their  bread  by  physical  labour.  The  old  woman,  who  at 
first  had  impressed  Olenin  with  her  coarseness,  now  fre- 
quently touched  him  by  her  simple  tenderness  in  relation 
to  her  daughter. 

“We  need  not  complain,  dear  sir!  We  have  every- 
thing, thank  God ! We  have  pressed  some  wine,  and 
have  preserved  some,  and  we  shall  be  able  to  sell  three 

268 


THE  COSSACKS 


269 


barrels  or  more  of  grapes,  and  there  will  be  enough  left  to 
drink.  Don't  be  in  a hurry  to  leave  us ! We  will  have 
you  celebrate  with  us  at  the  wedding.” 

“ When  will  the  wedding  be  ? ” asked  Olenin,  feeling 
all  his  blood  rush  to  his  face,  and  his  heart  beating  with 
an  uneven  and  painful  motion. 

There  was  a stir  behind  the  oven,  and  the  cracking  of 
pumpkin  seeds  was  heard. 

“Well,  we  ought  to  celebrate  it  next  week.  We  are 
ready,”  replied  the  old  woman,  in  a quiet,  straightforward 
manner,  as  though  Olenin  were  not  there,  or  had  never 
existed.  “ I have  got  everything  together  for  Mar- 
yanushka.  We  will  give  her  a nice  trousseau.  Only 
this  is  bad : our  Lukashka  has  been  a little  wild  of  late. 
He  is  carrying  on  too  much ! He  is  wild ! The  other 
day  a Cossack  returned  from  the  company,  and  told  us 
that  Lukashka  had  been  to  the  Nogay  country.” 

“He  might  get  caught,”  said  Olenin. 

“ That’s  what  I say  : ‘ You,  Lukashka,  don’t  be  so  wild  ! ’ 
Of  course,  he  is  a young  fellow,  and  he  wants  to  show  off. 
But  there  is  a time  for  everything.  Well,  suppose  he  has 
driven  off  some  cattle,  has  stolen,  has  killed  an  abrek,  — 
a fine  fellow  ! It  is  time  to  live  a peaceable  life ; but  this 
will  not  do.” 

“Yes,  I saw  him  once  or  twice  at  the  front,  — he  is 
taking  it  easy.  And  then  he  has  sold  his  horse,”  said 
Olenin,  glancing  at  the  oven. 

A pair  of  large  black  eyes  gleamed  at  him  sternly  and 
malevolently.  He  was  sorry  for  what  he  had  said. 

“ Well ! He  is  doing  no  one  any  harm,”  suddenly  said 
Mary^nka.  “He  is  celebrating  with  his  own  money,” 
and  letting  down  her  feet,  she  leaped  from  the  oven  and 
went  out,  slamming  the  door. 

Olenin  followed  her  out  with  his  eyes ; then  he  looked 
out  into  the  yard,  and  waited,  not  listening  to  what 
Mother  Ulltka  was  telling  him.  A few  minutes  later 


270 


THE  COSSACKS 


guests  entered : an  old  man,  Mother  Ulitka’s  brother, 
Uncle  Eroshka,  and  soon  after,  Maryanka,  with  Ustenka. 

“ Good  evening,”  Ustenka  squeaked.  “ Are  you  still 
celebrating  ? ” she  said,  turning  to  Olenin. 

“ Yes,  I am,”  he  answered,  and  for  some  reason  he  felt 
ashamed  and  ill  at  ease. 

He  wanted  to  go  away,  and  could  not.  Equally,  it 
seemed  impossible  to  him  to  ’keep  silent.  The  old  man 
helped  him  out:  he  asked  for  something  to  drink,  and 
they  drank  together.  Then  Olenin  had  some  wine  with 
Eroshka.  Then  with  the  other  Cossack.  Then  again 
with  Eroshka.  And  the  more  he  drank,  the  heavier  his 
heart  felt.  The  old  men  drank  without  cessation.  The 
two  girls  climbed  on  the  oven,  where  they  giggled,  look- 
ing at  the  men,  who  drank  until  late  into  the  night. 
Olenin  did  not  speak,  but  drank  more  than  the  rest. 
The  Cossacks  were  getting  noisy.  The  old  woman  told 
them  to  go,  and  refused  to  give  them  more  wine.  The 
girls  made  fun  of  Uncle  Eroshka ; it  was  ten  o’clock 
when  they  all  went  out  on  the  porch.  The  old  men 
invited  themselves  to  end  the  night  in  a drinking  bout  at 
Olenin’s.  Ustenka  ran  away  home.  Eroshka  took  the 
Cossack  over  to  Vanyusha.  The  old  woman  went  to 
straighten  out  things  in  the  dairy.  Maryanka  was  left 
alone  in  the  room.  Olenin  felt  fresh  and  brisk,  as  though 
he  had  just  awakened.  He  took  in  the  situation,  and, 
letting  the  old  men  go  ahead,  returned  to  the  room, 
Maryanka  was  getting  ready  to  go  to  sleep.  He  went 
up  to  her,  and  wished  to  say  something  to  her,  but  his 
voice  broke.  She  sat  down  on  her  bed,  drew  her  feet 
under  her,  moved  away  from  him  into  the  corner,  and 
looked  at  him  in  silence,  with  a terrified,  wild  glance. 
She  was  evidently  afraid  of  him.  Olenin  felt  it.  He  was 
both  sorry  and  ashamed,  but,  at  the  same  time,  felt  a 
proud  pleasure  for  having  evoked  in  her  this  feeling,  if  no 
other. 


THE  COSSACKS 


271 


“ Marydnka  ! ” he  said.  “ Will  you  never  have  pity  on 
me  ? I can’t  tell  you  how  I love  you.” 

She  moved  away  still  farther. 

“ It  is  the  wine  that  is  speaking  in  you.  You  will  get 
nothing ! ” 

“ No,  not  the  wine.  Do  not  marry  Luk^shka  ! I will 
marry  you.” 

“ What  am  I saying  ? ” he  thought,  as  he  pronounced 
those  words.  “ Will  I tell  her  this  to-morrow  ? I will,  I 
certainly  will,  and  I will  repeat  it  now,”  an  inner  voice 
answered  him. 

“ Will  you  marry  me  ? ” 

She  looked  at  him  earnestly,  and  her  fear  seemed  to 
have  left  her. 

“ Maryanka ! I shall  lose  my  reason.  I am  beside 
myself.  I will  do  whatever  you  tell  me  to,”  and  sense- 
lessly tender  words  flowed  of  their  own  accord. 

“ Don’t  talk  such  rubbish ! ” she  interrupted  him,  sud- 
denly seizing  his  hand  which  he  had  stretched  out  to  her. 
She  did  not  push  it  away,  but  gripped  it  tightly  between 
her  strong,  rough  fingers.  “ Do  gentlemen  marry  Cossack 
girls  ? Go ! ” 

“ Will  you  marry  me  ? I will  — ” 

“ And  what  shall  we  do  with  Lukashka  ? ” she  said, 
smiling. 

He  tore  his  hand,  which  she  was  holding,  out  of  hers, 
and  firmly  clasped  her  youthful  body.  But  she  jumped 
up  like  a deer,  leaped  down  with  her  bare  feet,  and  ran 
out  on  the  porch.  Olenin  came  to  his  senses,  and 
was  horror-struck  at  himself.  Again  he  appeared  to 
himself  inexpressibly  detestable  in  comparison  with  her. 
But,  without  repenting  for  a moment  what  he  had  said, 
he  went  home,  and,  without  paying  any  attention  to  the 
carousing  old  men,  lay  down,  and  slept  a sound  sleep, 
such  as  he  had  not  slept  for  a long  time. 


XXXV. 


The  next  day  was  a holiday.  In  the  evening  all  the 
people  were  in  the  street  displaying  their  gala  attire  in 
the  setting  sun.  More  wine  than  usual  had  been  pressed. 
The  people  were  through  with  the  harvest.  The  Cossacks 
were  preparing  themselves  to  leave  for  an  expedition 
within  a month,  and  many  families  were  getting  ready  to 
celebrate  weddings. 

In  the  square,  in  front  of  the  village  office,  and  near 
two  shops,  in  one  of  which  sweetmeats  and  pumpkin 
and  melon  seeds  were  sold,  and  in  the  other  kerchiefs  and 
calico,  stood  the  largest  groups.  On  the  mound  of  the 
village  office  stood  and  sat  old  men,  in  simple  gray  and 
black  coats,  without  galloons  and  adornments.  The  old 
men  were  discussing,  in  quiet,  measured  voices,  the  crops 
and  the  young  children,  the  village  affairs  and  the  olden 
times,  sternly  and  indifferently  looking  down  upon  the 
younger  generation.  The  women  and  girls,  passing  by 
them,  stopped  for  a moment  and  lowered  their  heads. 
The  young  Cossacks  deferentially  shortened  their  steps, 
and,  doffing  their  caps,  held  them  for  awhile  before  their 
heads.  The  old  men  grew  silent.  They  surveyed  the 
passers-by,  now  sternly,  now  kindly,  and  deliberately  took 
off  their  caps  and  put  them  on  again. 

The  Cossack  women  had  not  yet  begun  to  lead  the 
TcJiorovod , but,  gathering  in  groups,  in  their  brightly 
coloured  half-coats  and  white  kerchiefs,  which  covered 
their  heads  down  to  the  eyes,  sat  on  the  ground  and  on 
the  mounds,  in  the  shade  formed  by  the  slanting  rays,  and 

272 


THE  COSSACKS 


273 


chattered  and  laughed  with  their  ringing  voices.  The  boys 
and  girls  played  ball,  whirling  it  high  up  into  the  air, 
and,  shouting  and  piping,  ran  about  the  square.  The  half- 
grown  girls  at  the  other  end  of  the  square  were  already  lead- 
ing the  khorovod , and  singing  a song  in  their  shrill,  timid 
voices.  The  scribes,  the  exempt  from  service,  and  the 
young  lads  who  had  come  home  for  the  holidays,  in  white 
gala  mantles  and  in  new  red  ones  embroidered  with 
galloons,  with  merry  holiday  faces,  walked  hand  in  hand, 
in  groups  of  two  and  three,  from  one  circle  of  women  and 
girls  to  another,  and,  stopping,  jested  and  played  with  the 
Cossack  maidens. 

An  Armenian  shopkeeper,  in  a blue  mantle  of  fine  cloth 
with  galloons,  was  standing  at  the  open  door,  through  which 
could  be  seen  shelves  with  rolled  up  coloured  kerchiefs, 
and,  with  the  pride  of  an  Eastern  merchant  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  importance,  was  waiting  for  customers. 
Two  red-bearded,  barefooted  Chechens,  who  had  come 
from  across  the  T4rek  to  enjoy  the  holiday,  were  sitting 
on  their  heels  near  the  house  of  their  acquaintance,  and, 
carelessly  smoking  their  little  pipes  and  continually  spit- 
ting out,  were  exchanging  rapid  guttural  sounds,  as  they 
were  watching  the  people.  Now  and  then  a soldier  in  an 
old  week-day  overcoat  hurriedly  passed  between  the  varie- 
gated groups  of  the  square.  Here  and  there  were  heard 
the  drunken  songs  of  Cossacks  going  on  a spree. 

All  the  cabins  were  closed  up,  and  the  porches  had 
been  washed  the  evening  before.  Even  the  old  women 
were  in  the  streets.  Along  the  roads  shells  of  melon  and 
pumpkin  seeds  were  lying  everywhere  in  the  dust.  The 
air  was  warm  and  motionless,  the  clear  sky  was  blue  and 
transparent.  The  dull  white  crests  of  the  mountains  which 
could  be  seen  behind  the  roofs  looked  as  though  within 
a short  distance,  and  as  though  they  were  tinged  pink  by 
the  rays  of  the  declining  sun.  Occasionally,  the  distant 
din  of  a cannon  could  bo  heard  from  across  the  river. 


274 


THE  COSSACKS 


But  over  the  village  were  borne  the  varied  gay  holiday 
sounds,  mingling  into  one. 

Olenin  had  been  pacing  the  yard  all  the  morning,  in  the 
hope  of  seeing  Maryanka.  But  she  had  gone  to  mass  in 
the  chapel  soon  after  having  dressed  herself ; then  she  sat 
on  a mound  with  the  girls,  cracking  seeds,  or  with  her  com- 
panions ran  into  the  house,  casting  merry  and  kind  glances 
upon  the  lodger.  Olenin  was  afraid  to  speak  jestingly 
to  her,  especially  before  others.  He  was  waiting  for 
another  such  moment  as  on  the  previous  evening ; but 
that  moment  did  not  present  itself,  and  he  felt  it  to  be 
above  his  strength  to  remain  any  longer  in  that  uncertain 
situation.  She  again  came  out  into  the  street,  and  a little 
while  later  he  himself  followed  her,  not  knowing  whither. 
He  passed  by  the  corner  where  she  was  seated,  gleaming 
in  her  blue  velvet  half-coat,  and  with  pain  in  his  heart  he 
heard  the  girls'  laughter  behind  him. 

Byel^tski’s  cabin  was  near  the  square.  As  he  went 
past  it,  he  heard  Byel^tski’s  voice, “ Come  in!”  and  he 
walked  in. 

After  a short  chat,  they  sat  down  at  the  window. 
Soon  after  they  were  joined  by  Eroshka  in  a new  half-coat, 
who  sat  down  on  the  floor  near  them. 

“ That  over  yonder  is  an  aristocratic  group,”  said  Bye- 
l£tski,  pointing  with  his  cigarette  to  a variegated  crowd  on 
the  corner,  and  smiling.  “ Mine  is  there,  too,  in  a new 
red  dress,  you  see.  Why  don’t  the  khorovods  begin  ? ” 
exclaimed  Byel^tski,  looking  out  of  the  window.  “ Just 
wait!  As  soon  as  it  is  dark, ^we  will  go  out  ourselves. 
Then  we  will  call  them  to  Ustenka’s.  We  must  give 
them  a party.” 

“ I will  come  to  "frstenka’s,  too,”  said  016nin,  resolutely. 
“ Will  Maryanka  be  there  ? ” 

“ She  will.  Do  come ! ” said  Byel^tski,  not  in  the  least 
surprised.  “ How,  this  is  really  very  beautiful,”  he  added, 
pointing  to  the  variegated  crowds. 


THE  COSSACKS 


275 


“ Yes,  very  ! ” Olenin  agreed  with  him,  endeavouring 
to  appear  indifferent.  “ On  such  holidays,”  he  added,  “ I 
am  always  wondering  what  it  is  that  makes  the  people 
suddenly  content  and  gay,  simply  because  there  happens 
to  be  such  and  such  a date.  The  holiday  is  on  everything. 
Their  eyes,  and  faces,  and  voices,  and  motions,  and  clothes, 
and  the  air  and  sun,  — everything  has  a holiday  appear- 
ance. We  are  past  our  holidays.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Byeletski,  who  was  not  fond  of  such 
reflections. 

“ Well,  why  don’t  you  drink,  old  man  ? ” he  turned  to 
Eroshka. 

Eroshka  winked  to  Oldnin,  as  much  as  to  say,  “Yes, 
your  chum  is  a proud  fellow ! ” 

Byeldtski  raised  his  glass. 

“ Allah  loirdy  ” he  said,  and  emptied  it.  (Allah  lirdy 
means  “ God  has  given ! ” It  is  a customary  salutation 
of  the  mountaineers  when  they  drink  together.) 

“ Sau  lul  (May  you  be  well),”  said  Erdshka,  smiling, 
and  gulping  down  his  glass. 

“ You  say  it  is  a holiday ! ” he  said  to  Oldnin,  rising 
and  looking  through  the  window.  “ This  is  not  much  of 
a holiday ! You  ought  to  have  seen  them  celebrate  in 
days  gone  by  ! The  women  used  to  come  out  all  dressed 
up  in  sleeveless  cloaks  embroidered  with  galloons.  The 
breast  would  be  festooned  with  gold  lace  in  two  rows.  On 
their  heads  they  wore  gold-laced  hats.  As  they  walked 
past,  they  raised  such  a noise ! Each  woman  was  a prin- 
cess. They  used  to  go  out,  a whole  bevy  of  them,  and 
sing  songs  enough  to  deafen  you ; they  would  celebrate 
all  night  long.  And  the  Cossacks  would  roll  out  kegs 
into  the  yards,  and  sit  down  and  drink  until  daybreak  ; 
or  they  would  take  each  other’s  hands  and  start  on  a rush 
through  the  village.  Whomsoever  they  met  on  their  way, 
they  would  take  with  them,  and  so  they  would  go  from 
house  to  house.  Many  a time  they  would  celebrate  three 


276 


THE  COSSACKS 


days  in  succession.  I remember  how  father  used  to  come 
home,  red  and  puffed  up,  without  his  cap  or  anything,  and 
throw  himself  down  on  the  bed.  Mother  knew  what  to 
do : she  would  bring  him  some  fresh  caviar  and  red  wine 
to  sober  him  up  with,  and  herself  would  run  through  the 
village  to  look  for  his  cap.  Then  he  would  sleep  for  two 
days  at  a time ! That  is  the  kind  of  people  they  were  then ! 
But  how  is  it  to-day  ? ” 

“ Well,  how  about  the  girls  in  their  sleeveless  cloaks  ? 
Did  they  keep  by  themselves  ? ” asked  Byeletski. 

“ Yes,  by  themselves ! Then  the  Cossacks  would  come, 
on  foot  or  on  horseback,  and  ‘ Let  us  break  up  their 
khorovods ! ’ they  would  say,  and  the  girls  would  take 
up  oak  cudgels.  In  the  Butter-week  a young  fellow 
would  come  dashing  along  in  such  a manner,  and  they 
would  strike  out,  and  beat  his  horse,  and  him.  But 
he  would  break  through  the  wall,  and  carry  off  the 
one  he  liked  best.  And  his  sweetheart  would  love  him 
to  his  heart's  content.  Oh,  what  girls,  what  queenly 
girls  tJiey  were!" 


XXXVI. 

Just  then  two  men  on  horseback  rode  up  from  a side 
street.  One  of  them  was  Nazarka,  the  other  Lukashka. 
Lukashka  was  sitting  a little  to  one  side  on  his  well-fed 
bay  Kabarda  horse,  which  stepped  lightly  on  the  rough 
road,  and  swayed  his  beautiful  head  with  his  shining,  deli- 
cate withers.  The  well-adjusted  gun  in  the  case,  the 
pistol  at  his  back,  and  the  military  mantle  rolled  up  be- 
hind the  saddle,  proved  that  Lukashka  had  not  arrived 
from  a peaceful,  or  near-by  place.  In  his  sidewise  foppish 
pose,  in  the  careless  motion  of  his  hand,  with  which  he 
almost  inaudibly  cracked  his  whip  under  the  horse’s  belly, 
and  particularly  in  his  glistening  black  eyes,  with  which 
he,  proudly  blinking,  surveyed  everything  about  him, 
were  expressed  the  consciousness  of  strength  and  the  self- 
confidence  of  youth.  “ Have  you  seen  the  dashing  fellow  ? ” 
his  eyes,  glancing  around  him,  seemed  to  say.  His 
shapely  horse,  the  harness  and  the  weapons  with  silver 
trimmings,  and  the  handsome  Cossack  himself,  attracted 
the  attention  of  all  the  people  who  were  gathered  in  the 
square.  Nazarka,  spare  and  undersized,  was  dressed  much 
worse  than  Lukashka.  Passing  by  the  old  men,  Lukashka 
checked  his  horse,  and  raised  his  white  curly  cap  above 
his  clipped  black  hair. 

“ Well,  have  you  driven  off  many  Nogay  horses  ? ” said 
a haggard  old  man,  with  a frowning,  gloomy  look. 

“ Have  you  been  counting  them,  grandfather,  that  you 
are  asking  about  it  ? ” replied  Lukashka,  turning  away. 

277 


278 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ You  are  not  doing  well  to  take  the  chap  with  you,” 
said  the  old  man,  more  gloomily  still. 

“ See,  the  devil,  he  knows  everything ! ” Lukashka 
said,  under  his  breath,  and  his  face  assumed  a careworn 
expression  ; but  glancing  into  the  corner  where  a number 
of  Cossack  girls  were  standing,  he  wheeled  his  horse 
around  toward  them. 

“ Good  day,  girls ! ” he  shouted,  in  his  strong,  ringing 
voice,  and  suddenly  checked  in  his  horse.  “ You  have 
grown  old  without  me,  hags ! ” and  he  burst  out  laughing. 

“ Good  day,  Lukashka,  good  day,  brother  ! ” were  heard 
their  merry  voices.  “Have  you  brought  much  money 
with  you  ? Buy  the  girls  some  sweetmeats ! How  long 
are  you  going  to  stay  ? We  have  not  seen  you  for  a long 
time.” 

“ Nazarka  and  I have  run  down  for  the  night,  to  cele- 
brate,” answered  Lukashka,  cracking  his  whip  over  the 
horse,  and  riding  into  the  throng  of  girls. 

“ Whyv  Maryanka  has  entirely  forgotten  about  you,” 
shrieked  Ustenka,  nudging  Maryanka  with  her  elbow,  and 
bursting  forth  into  a small  laugh. 

Maryanka  moved  back  from  the  horse,  and,  thrusting 
back  her  head,  calmly  gazed  at  the  Cossack  with  her 
large  sparkling  eyes. 

“ You  have  not  been  here  for  a long  time  ! Stop  crush- 
ing us  with  your  horse  ! ” she  said,  dryly,  and  turned  away. 

Lukashka  was  evidently  in  a very  happy  frame  of 
mind.  His  face  shone  with  daring  and  joy.  Maryanka’s 
cold  answer  obviously  startled  him.  He  suddenly 
scowled. 

“ Get  up  on  the  stirrups,  and  I will  take  you  into  the 
mountains,  my  dear!”  he  suddenly  cried,  as  though  to 
dispel  his  unpleasant  thoughts,  and  began  to  make  all 
kinds  of  daring  evolutions  among  the  girls.  He  bent 
down  to  Maryanka.  “I  will  kiss  you,  I will  kiss  you 
hard!” 


THE  COSSACKS 


279 


Maryanka’ s eyes  and  his  met,  and  she  suddenly  blushed. 
She  stepped  aside. 

“ Stop  it ! You  are  going  to  crush  our  feet ! ” she  said, 
and,  lowering  her  head,  looked  at  her  shapely  feet  that 
were  clad  in  blue  stockings  with  clocks,  and  in  new  red 
shoes,  bordered  with  narrow  silver  galloons. 

Lukashka  turned  to  Ustenka,  and  Maryanka  sat  down 
alongside  a Cossack  woman  holding  a babe  in  her  arms. 
The  child  stretched  its  hands  out  toward  Maryanka,  and 
with  its  plump  little  hand  seized  a thread  of  the  necklace 
which  was  hanging  down  her  blue  half-coat.  Maryanka 
bent  down  to  the  child,  and  looked  askance  at  Lukashka. 
In  the  meantime  Lukashka  fetched  out  from  the  pocket  of 
his  black  half-coat,  beneath  his  mantle,  a small  bundle  of 
sweetmeats  and  seeds. 

“ I offer  ^it  to  the  whole  crowd,”  he  said,  handing  the 
bundle  to  Ustenka,  and  smilingly  gazing  at  Maryanka. 

There  was  again  an  expression  of  perplexity  in  the 
girl’s  face.  Her  beautiful  eyes  looked  dim,  as  though 
covered  with  a mist.  She  lowered  the  kerchief  below  her 
lips,  and,  suddenly  burying  her  head  in  the  white  face  of 
the  babe  holding  her  necklace,  began  to  kiss  it  eagerly. 
The  child  pressed  its  tiny  hands  against  the  girl’s  swelling 
bosom  and  cried,  opening  its  toothless  mouth. 

“ You  are  choking  the  baby,”  said  the  child’s  mother, 
taking  it  away  and  opening  her  half-coat,  in  order  to  give 
it  the  breast.  “ You  had  better  chat  with  the  young 
lad.” 

“ As  soon  as  I have  housed  the  horse,  I will  be  back 
with  Nazar ka,  to  carouse  all  night,”  said  Lukashka,  strik- 
ing the  horse  with  the  whip,  and  riding  away  from  the 
girls. 

Having  turned,  together  with  Naz£rka,  into  a side 
street,  they  rode  up  to  two  cabins  standing  in  a row. 

“ So  here  we  are,  brother  ! Come  soon  ! ” Lukashka 
cried  to  his  companion,  dismounting  at  the  neighbouring 


280 


THE  COSSACKS 


yard,  and  leading  his  own  horse  through  the  wicker  gate 
of  his  own  courtyard.  “ Good  evening,  Stepka ! ” he 
turned  to  the  dumb  girl,  who  herself  was  dressed  in  holi- 
day attire,  and  was  coming  in  from  the  street  to  take  the 
horse  from  him.  He  made  signs  to  her  to  give  the  horse 
some  hay,  and  not  to  unsaddle  him. 

The  dumb  girl  made  some  inarticulate  sounds,  smacked 
her  lips,  pointed  to  the  horse,  and  kissed  his  nose.  That 
meant  that  she  liked  the  horse,  and  that  it  was  a fine 
steed. 

“ Good  evening,  mother ! Have  you  not  yet  been  out 
in  the  street  ? ” cried  Lukashka,  holding  his  gun  and 
walking  up  the  steps. 

His  old  mother  opened  the  door  for  him. 

“ Now,  I did  not  expect  you,  nor  hope  for  you  to  come,” 
said  the  old  woman.  “ Kirka  told  me  you  would  not  be 
here.” 

“ Let  me  have  a little  red  wine,  mother  ! Nazarka  will 
come  to  see  me,  and  we  will  drink  in  honour  of  the  holi- 
day.” 

“ Directly,  Lukashka,  directly,”  answered  the  old  woman. 
“ Our  women-folk  are  out  strolling.  I think  our  dumb  girl 
has  gone  out,  too.” 

She  picked  up  her  keys  and  hastened  out  into  the 
dairy. 

Having  stabled  his  horse  and  taken  off  his  gun,  Nazarka 
went  over  to  Lukashka’s. 


XXXVII. 


“ To  your  health,”  said  Lukashka,  receiving  from  his 
mother  a full  cup  of  wine,  and  cautiously  taking  it  over 
to  Nazarka,  who  sat  with  drooping  head. 

“ I declare,”  said  Nazarka,  “ you  heard  Grandfather 
Clodhopper  ask,  ‘ Have  you  stolen  many  horses  ? ’ He 
evidently  knows.” 

“ Wizard ! ” was  Lukashka’s  curt  reply.  “ What  of  it  ? ” 
he  added,  shaking  his  head.  “ They  are  now  beyond  the 
river.  Go  and  find  them  ! ” 

“ Still  it  is  not  good.” 

“ What  is  not  good  ? Take  some  wine  to  him  to-mor- 
row ! That's  what  we  have  to  do,  and  that  will  be  the 
end  of  it.  Now  for  the  spree ! Drink ! ” shouted  Lu- 
kashka, in  the  same  voice  in  which  old  Eroshka  pro- 
nounced this  word.  “ We  will  go  out  to  celebrate  in  the 
street,  with  the  girls.  You  go  down  and  fetch  some 
honey,  or  I will  send  the  dumb  girl  for  it.  We  will  cele- 
brate until  morning.” 

Nazarka  smiled. 

“ Well,  shall  we  stay  here  long  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Let  us  first  have  a good  time ! Kun  for  some  brandy 
Here  is  money  ! ” 

Nazarka  obediently  ran  over  to  Yamka’s. 

Uncle  Eroshka  and  Ergushov,  having  scented  a spree, 
like  some  birds  of  prey,  fell,  both  drunk,  one  after  the 
other,  into  the  hut. 

“ Let  me  have  another  half-bucket ! ” shouted  Lu- 
kashka to  his  mother,  in  reply  to  their  salutation. 

281 


282 


THE  COSSACKS 


“Now,  tell  me,  you  devil,  where  did  you  steal ?" 
shouted  Uncle  Eroshka.  “ You  are  a fine  fellow!  I love 
you ! ” 

“ Yes,  you  love  me,”  answered  Lukashka,  laughing. 
“ You  are  carrying  sweetmeats  from  yunkers  to  girls. 
What  do  you  say,  old  man  ? ” 

“ It  is  a lie,  yes,  it  is  a lie ! Oh,  Marka ! ” The  old 
man  burst  out  laughing.  “ How  that  devil  did  beg  me ! 

‘ Go/  says  he,  * and  try  for  me  ! ’ He  offered  me  a fowling- 
piece.  No,  God  be  with  him ! I would  have  done  it,  but 
I was  sorry  for  you.  Now,  tell  me,  where  have  you 
been  ? ” And  the  old  man  started  speaking  in  Tartar. 

Lukashka  answered  him  briskly. 

Ergushov,  who  did  not  understand  Tartar  well,  now 
and  then  threw  in  a few  words  in  Russian. 

“ I say,  he  has  driven  off  some  horses.  I know  for 
sure,”  he  affirmed. 

“ Gir^yka  and  I rode  out  together,”  Lukashka  began  to 
tell.  His  using  the  diminutive  Gir^yka  for  Gir4y-khan 
heightened  his  dash  to  the  Cossack’s  thinking.  “ On  the 
other  side  of  the  river  he  boasted  of  knowing  the  whole 
steppe,  and  he  said  he  would  take  me  there  straight ; but 
when  we  rode  out  it  was  dark  night,  and  my  Gir4yka 
got  all  mixed  up ; he  began  to  sniff  about,  and  could  not 
make  out  anything.  He  could  not  find  the  native  vil- 
lage, and  that  was  the  end  of  it.  We  had  obviously  gone 
too  much  to  the  right.  I suppose  we  must  have  wandered 
about  until  midnight.  And  then  luckily  the  dogs  began 
to  howl.” 

“Fools,”  said  Uncle  Eroshka.  “We  used  to  get  lost 
that  way  in  the  steppe.  The  devil  can  make  them  out ! 
Then  I would  ride  on  some  mound,  and  howl  like  a wolf, 
like  this ! ” He  folded  his  hands  over  his  mouth,  and 
howled  like  a pack  of  wolves,  in  one  long  note.  “ The 
dogs  would  always  reply.  Go,  tell  the  rest ! Well,  did 
you  find  it  ? ” 


THE  COSSACKS 


283 


“We  at  once  took  to  putting  the  halters  on  the  horses. 
Nog iy  women  caught  Nazarka,  bah!” 

“ Yes,  they  did,”  said  Nazarka,  who  had  just  returned  ; 
he  spoke  as  though  he  were  offended. 

“We  rode  ahead,  and  again  Girdyka  lost  his  way ; he 
took  us  straight  to  the  sand  dunes.  He  kept  saying  that 
we  were  riding  in  the  direction  of  the  Tdrek,  when  we 
were  going  quite  the  opposite  way.” 

“You  ought  to  have  watched  the  stars,”  said  Uncle 
Erdshka. 

“ That's  what  I say,”  Ergushov  chimed  in. 

“ But,  I tell  you  it  was  dreadfully  dark.  I groped 
about  and  about ! I put  the  halter  on  one  mare,  and  gave 
my  own  horse  the  rein.  I thought  he  would  take  me 
the  right  way.  What  do  you  think  he  did  ? He  just 
snorted,  and  put  his  nose  to  the  ground.  He  dashed  for- 
ward, and  brought  me  straight  to  the  village.  And  in 
the  meantime  it  had  grown  light ; we  had  barely  time  to 
hide  them  in  the  woods.  Nagim  came  from  across  the 
river,  and  took  them  away.” 

Ergushdv  shook  his  head.  “ That's  what  I say  : it  was 
clever.  How  many  did  you  get  ? ” 

“ They  are  all  here,”  said  Lukashka,  striking  his  pocket 
with  his  hand. 

Just  then  the  old  woman  entered  the  room. 

“ Drink  ! ” he  shouted. 

“ Once  Girchik  and  I went  out  late  — ” began  Erdshka. 

“Well,  there  will  be  no  end  to  your  story,”  said  Lu- 
kashka. “ But  I will  go.”  Emptying  his  wine-bowl  and 
tightening  his  belt,  Lukashka  went  out  into  the  street. 


XXXVIII. 

It  was  late  when  Lukashka  walked  out  into  the  street. 
The  autumnal  night  was  fresh  and  windless.  The  full 
golden  moon  swam  out  from  behind  the  black  poplars 
that  towered  on  one  side  of  the  square.  A smoke  rose 
from  the  chimneys  of  the  dairies,  and,  mingling  with  the 
mist,  spread  over  the  village.  Here  and  there  a light 
could  be  seen  in  the  windows.  The  odour  of  the  dung 
chips,  of  the  young  wine,  and  of  the  mist  was  borne 
through  the  air.  The  chatting,  the  laughter,  the  songs, 
and  the  cracking  of  seeds  sounded  just  as  mixed,  but 
more  distinct  than  in  the  daytime.  White  kerchiefs  and 
lambskin  caps  could  be  seen  in  small  groups  in  the  dark- 
ness, along  the  fences  and  the  houses. 

In  the  square,  opposite  the  opened  and  illuminated  door 
of  the  shop,  were  assembled  throngs  of  Cossacks  and  girls, 
looking  now  black,  now  white,  and  there  could  be  heard 
loud  songs,  laughter,  and  chattering.  Taking  hold  of 
each  other’s  hands,  the  girls  were  circling  around,  tripping 
gracefully  in  the  dusty  square.  A haggard  and  very 
homely  girl  sang  out : 

“ Out  of  the  forest,  the  little  dark  forest, 

Ay  da  lyuli ! 

Out  of  the  garden,  the  little  green  garden, 

There  walked  out,  came  out  two  fine  fellows, 

Two  fine  fellows,  and  both  of  them  unmarried. 

They  walked  out,  came  out,  and  stood  still, 

They  stood  still,  began  to  quarrel. 

Forth  came  to  them  a fair  maiden, 

Came  out  to  them,  and  spoke  to  them : 

284 


THE  COSSACKS 


285 


« Now,  to  one  of  you  I shall  be  given.’ 

She  was  given  to  the  fair-faced  lad, 

The  fair-faced  lad,  the  fair-haired  one. 

He  took  her,  took  her  by  her  right  hand, 

He  led  her,  led  her,  all  around  the  circle, 

And  he  boasted  to  all  his  companions  : 

< Behold,  brothers,  the  wife  I have ! ’ ” 

The  old  women  stood  around  and  listened  to  the  songs. 
The  boys  and  young  girls  flitted  about  in  the  darkness, 
trying  to  catch  each  other.  The  Cossacks  stood  near  by, 
teasing  the  girls  as  they  passed,  and  occasionally  breaking 
through  the  khorovod , and  walking  inside  the  circle.  On 
the  dark  side  of  the  door  stood  Byeldtski  and  Olenin,  in 
mantles  and  lambskin  caps,  and  conversed  with  each 
other,  not  in  the  Cossack  dialect,  nor  aloud,  but  audibly 
enough,  and  they  were  conscious  of  attracting  attention. 
Plump  Ustenka,  in  red  half-coat,  and  the  majestic  figure 
of  Maryanka,  in  her  new  shirt  and  half-coat,  were  neigh- 
bours in  the  khorovod.  Olenin  was  discussing  with 
Byel^tski  how  to  get  Maryanka  and  Ustenka  away  from 
the  khorovod.  Byeletski  surmised  that  Olenin  wanted  to 
have  some  amusement,  but  Olenin  was  hoping  to  have  his 
lot  decided.  He  wanted  to  see  Maryanka  by  herself  that 
evening,  cost  what  it  might,  to  tell  her  everything,  and  to 
ask  her  whether  she  could  and  would  become  his  wife. 
Although  the  question  had  long  ago  been  answered  in  the 
negative,  he  hoped  that  he  would  be  able  to  tell  her  every- 
thing he  felt,  and  that  she  would  understand  him. 

“ Why  did  you  not  tell  me  before  ? ” said  Byeletski.  “ I 
would  have  arranged  it  for  you  through  Ustenka.  You 
are  so  strange ! ” 

“ What’s  to  be  done  ? Some  day,  very  soon,  I will  tell 
you  everything.  But  now,  for  God’s  sake,  arrange  it  so 
that  she  will  come  to  Ustenka’s.” 

“ Very  well.  That  is  easy.  So  the  fair-faced  lad  will 
get  you,  and  not  Luk^shka  ? ” said  Byeletski,  for  propri- 


286 


THE  COSSACKS 


ety’s  sake  turning  first  to  Maryanka  ; but,  without  waiting 
for  an  answer,  he  went  up  to  Ustenka,  and  began  to  ask 
her  to  bring  Maryanka  with  her.  He  had  hardly  finished 
speaking,  when  the  leader  started  another  song,  and  the 
girls  drew  each  other  around  the  circle. 

They  sang : 

44  Behind  the  garden,  behind  the  garden, 

A fellow,  her  to  meet, 

Walked  up  and  down  the  street. 

The  first  time  he  walked, 

His  right  hand  did  he  flap ; 

The  second  time  he  walked, 

He  waved  his  beaver  cap ; 

But  the  third  time  he  walked, 

He  stopped  in  front  of  her, 

Stopped  in  front  of  her,  went  over  to  her* 

4 1 was  going  to  see  thee, 

Angrily  to  thee  to  talk : 

Why  didst  thou  not,  dear  maid, 

Come  in  the  garden  for  to  walk? 

Or  art  thou,  my  darling  maid, 

Much  too  proud  for  me  ? 

Afterward,  my  darling  maid, 

Will  I settle  thee. 

I will  send  the  wooers  to  thee, 

I will  sue  for  thee : 

You  will  surely  be  my  wi£$, 

And  will  weep  through  me/ 

« Though  I knew  what  to  say, 

I did  not  dare  to  answer  4 Nay ! 9 
I did  not  dare  to  answer  4 Nay! 9 
To  the  garden  I did  wend, 

And  saluted  there  my  friend. 

4 Here  this  kerchief  take  from  me ! 

’Tis  a gift,  my  dear,  for  thee. 

Into  thy  white  hands  Tis  laid,  — 

Take  it  from  me,  darling  maid ! 

Into  thy  white  hands,  my  dove,  — 

Give,  oh,  give  me,  dear,  thy  love ! 

Maid,  I have  not,  as  I live, 

Other  gifts  to  thee  to  give. 


THE  COSSACKS 


287 


I shall  give  my  sweetheart  dear 
Nothing  but  this  kerchief  here. 

Take  this  kerchief,  do  take  this,  — 

And  my  dear  five  times  I’ll  kiss ! ' ” 

Lukashka  and  Nazarka  broke  the  Jchorovod , and 
walked  in  among  the  girls.  Lukashka  accompanied  the 
song  with  his  shrill  voice,  and,  waving  his  hands,  walked 
around  inside  the  circle.  “ Let  one  of  you  come  out ! ” 
he  said.  The  girls  pushed  Maryanka ; but  she  would  not 
go.  Amidst  the  song  could  be  heard  a shrill  laughter, 
blows,  kisses,  and  whispers. 

Passing  by  Olenin,  Lukashka  graciously  nodded  his 
head  to  him. 

“ Dmitri  Andreevich,  did  you  come  here  to  look  at  it  ? ” 
he  said. 

“ Yes,”  Olenin  answered,  resolutely  and  dryly. 

Byeletski  leaned  down  to  Ustenka’s  ear,  and  said 
something  to  her.  She  wanted  to  reply,  but  did  not 
get  a chance ; when  she  circled  around  the  second  time, 
she  said : 

" All  right,  we  will  come  ! ” 

“ And  Maryanka,  too  ? ” 

Olenin  bent  down  to  Maryanka.  “ Will  you  come  ? 
Please  do,  if  only  for  a minute.  I want  to  talk  with 
you.” 

“ If  the  girls  will  go,  I will.” 

“ Will  you  tell  me  what  I asked  you  about  ? ” he  asked, 
leaning  over  to  her.  “ You  are  happy  to-day.” 

She  began  to  whirl  around.  He  followed  her. 

“ Will  you  tell  me  ? ” 

“ What?” 

“ What  I asked  you  about  two  days  ago,”  said  Olenin, 
bending  down  to  her  ear.  “ Will  you  marry  me  ? ” 

“ I will  tell  you,”  she  answered.  “ I will  tell  you  this 
evening.” 


288 


THE  COSSACKS 


In  the  darkness  her  eyes  flashed  gaily  and  kindly  at 
the  young  man. 

He  continued  to  walk  with  her.  It  was  a pleasure  for 
him  to  bend  closer  to  her. 

But  Lukashka,  proceeding  with  his  song,  gave  her  hand 
a mighty  jerk,  and  pulled  her  out  into  the  middle  of  the 
khorovod.  Olenin  had  just  time  to  say,  “ Do  come  down 
to  Ustenka’s ! ” after  which  he  walked  back  to  his  com- 
panion. The  song  was  ended.  Lukashka  wiped  his  lips, 
Maryanka  did  the  same,  and  they  kissed.  “ No,  five  kisses ? 
said  Lukashka.  Conversation,  laughter,  running,  took  the 
place  of  the  even  motion  and  the  even  sounds.  Lukashka, 
who  seemed  to  have  had  a goodly  portion  of  wine,  began 
to  distribute  sweetmeats  to  the  girls. 

“ I offer  it  to  all,”  he  said,  with  proud,  tragicomical  self- 
satisfaction.  “ And  she  who  will  pass  her  time  with  sol- 
diers, let  her  get  out  of  the  khorovod”  he  suddenly  added, 
looking  maliciously  at  Ol&uin. 

The  girls  grabbed  his  sweetmeats,  and,  laughing,  took 
them  away  from  each  other.  Byel^tski  and  014nin  walked 
over  to  one  side. 

Lukashka,  as  though  embarrassed  at  his  liberality,  took 
1 off  his  cap  and,  wiping  his  brow  with  his  sleeve,  walked 
over  to  Maryanka  and  Ustenka. 

“ Or  art  thou , my  darling  maid , much  too  proud  for 
me  ? ” he  repeated  the  words  of  the  song  which  had  just 
been  sung,  and,  turning  to  Maryanka,  “ Much  too  proud  for 
me?  he  repeated,  angrily,  once  more.  “ You  will  surely  be 
my  wife , and  will  weep  through  me?  he  added,  embracing 
Ustenka  and  Maryanka  at  once. 

Ustenka  tore  herself  loose,  and,  raising  her  hand,  struck 
him  such  a blow  on  his  back  that  it  made  her  hand  smart. 

“ Well,  are  you  going  to  lead  again  ?”  he  asked. 

a As  the  girls  wish,”  answered  Ustenka,  “ but  I am 
going  borne,  and  Maryanka  wanted  to  come  to  our  house, 
too/’ 


THE  COSSACKS 


289 


“ Don’t  go  there,  Maryanka!”  he  said.  “We  will  pass 
our  time  together  for  the  last  time.  Go  home,  and  I 
will  follow  you.” 

“ What  should  I do  at  home  ? This  is  what  the  holi- 
day is  for,  to  have  a good  time.  I am  going  to  Ustenka’s,” 
said  Maryanka. 

“ I am  going  to  marry  you  soon.” 

“ Very  well,”  said  Maryanka.  “We  will  see  then.” 
“Well,  will  you  go?”  said  Lukashka,  sternly,  giving 
her  a tight  hug,  and  kissing  her  cheek. 

“ Stop  ! Don’t  bother  me  ! ” And  Maryanka  tore  her- 
self loose  and  walked  away  from  him. 

“ Oh,  girl,  it  will  not  be  right,”  reproachfully  said 
Lukashka,  stopping  and  shaking  his  head.  “ You  will 
weep  through  me ,”  and,  turning  away  from  her,  he  shouted 
to  the  girls,  “ Sing  a song,  won’t  you  ? ” 

Maryanka  seemed  to  be  frightened  and  annoyed  by  what 
he  had  said.  She  stopped.  “ What  will  not  be  right  ? ” 

« That.” 

“ What  ? ” 

“ Your  keeping  company  with  the  soldier,  your  lodger, 
and  because  you  are  not  loving  me  any  more.” 

“ If  I don’t  want  to  love  you,  I won’t.  You  are  not  my 
father  or  mother.  What  do  you  want  ? I will  love  whom 
I please.” 

“Well,  well!”  said  Lukashka.  “Only  remember  it!” 
He  went  up  to  the  shop.  “ Girls  ! ” he  cried.  “ Why  are 
you  standing  there  ? Sing  another  khorovod.  Nazarka, 
go  and  fetch  us  some  wine.” 

“ Well,  will  they  come  ?”  Olenin  asked  Byeletski. 

“ They  will,  directly,”  answered  Byeletski.  “ Come,  we 
must  get  the  entertainment  ready.” 


XXXIX. 


It  was  late  in  the  night  when  Olenin  left  Byel&ski’s 
cabin,  following  directly  after  Maryanka  and  Ustenka. 
The  girl’s  white  kerchief  could  be  discerned  in  the  dark 
street.  The  golden  moon  was  descending  toward  the 
steppe.  A silvery  mist  hovered  over  the  village.  All 
was  quiet ; there  were  no  lights ; only  the  steps  of  the 
departing  women  could  be  heard.  Olenin’s  heart  beat 
strongly.  His  flushed  face  was  refreshed  in  the  damp  air. 
He  glanced  at  the  sky,  and  at  the  cabin  from  which  he 
had  come ; the  light  in  it  went  out,  and  again  he  watched 
the  retiring  shadow  of  the  women.  The  white  kerchief 
disappeared  in  the  mist.  He  felt  terribly  to  be  alone ; he 
was  so  happy  ! He  sprang  down  from  the  porch  and  ran 
after  the  girls. 

“ Come  now ! They  might  see  you  ! ” said  Ustenka. 

“ That’s  all  right ! ” 

Olenin  rushed  up  to  Maryanka  and  embraced  her. 

Marydnka  did  not  struggle. 

“ Have  you  not  kissed  her  enough  ? ” said  tlstenka. 
“ You  will  kiss  her  when  you  get  married,  but  now  you 
must  wait.” 

“ Good-bye,  Maryanka ! To-morrow  I will  call  on  your 
father,  and  will  tell  him  myself.  Don’t  say  anything  to 
him ! ,J 

“ What  should  I say,  anyway  ? ” answered  Maryanka. 

The  two  girls  started  to  run.  Olenin  walked  by  him- 
self, trying  to  recall  everything  that  had  taken  place.  He 
had  passed  the  whole  evening  all  alone  with  her,  behind 

290 


THE  COSSACKS 


291 


the  oven.  Ustenka  did  not  leave  the  room  for  a minute, 
and  passed  her  time  with  the  girls  and  with  Byel^tski. 
Olenin  had  been  talking  with  her  in  a whisper. 

" Will  you  marry  me  ? ” he  had  asked  her. 

“ You  will  deceive  me ! You  will  not  take  me,”  she 
had  replied,  gaily  and  calmly. 

“ But  do  you  love  me  ? Tell  me,  for  God's  sake  ! ” 

“ Why  should  I not  love  you  ? You  are  not  mis- 
shapen ! ” Maryanka  had  answered,  laughing,  and  pressing 
his  hand  in  her  own  rough  hands.  “ What  white,  awfully 
white,  hands  you  have,  — just  like  curds,"  she  had  said. 

“ I am  not  jesting.  Tell  me,  will  you  marry  me  ? ” 

“ Why  should  I not,  if  father  is  willing  ? ” 

“ Bemember,  I shall  lose  my  mind  if  you  deceive  me. 
To-morrow  I will  tell  your  parents  ; I will  come  to  sue  for 
you." 

Maryanka  had  suddenly  burst  out  laughing. 

“ What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? " 

“ Nothing.  It  is  so  funny." 

“ Truly  ! I will  buy  a vineyard  and  a house,  and  will 
enrol  myself  as  a Cossack  — " 

“ Look  out ! You  must  not  love  any  other  women  ! I 
am  cross  when  it  comes  to  that  — " 

Olenin  with  delight  repeated  all  these  words  in  his  im- 
agination. At  these  recollections  he  now  felt  an  anguish 
and  now  was  breathless  with  happiness.  He  was  de- 
pressed, because  she  had  been  as  calm  as  ever  while 
speaking  with  him.  This  new  situation  had,  apparently, 
not  agitated  her  in  the  least.  She  did  not  seem  to  believe 
him,  and  was  not  thinking  of  the  future.  It  appeared  to 
him  that  she  was  loving  him  only  in  the  present,  and  that 
there  was  no  future  for  her  with  him.  But  he  was 
happy,  because  her  words  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  truth, 
and  because  she  had  consented  to  be  his. 

“ Yes,"  he  said  to  himself,  “ only  then  shall  we  under- 
stand each  other  when  she  is  all  mine.  For  such  a love 


292 


THE  COSSACKS 


there  are  no  words,  but  life,  a whole  life,  is  needed.  To- 
morrow everything  will  be  cleared  up.  I cannot  live 
thus  any  longer.  To-morrow  I will  tell  her  father,  Bye- 
14tski,  and  the  whole  village  — ” 

Having  previously  passed  two  sleepless  nights,  and 
having  drunk  so  much  in  celebrating  the  holiday,  Lu- 
kashka  was  at  once  taken  off  his  feet,  and  remained  at 
Yamka’s,  sleeping. 


XL. 


On  the  following  day  Olenin  awoke  earlier  than  usual. 
In  the  first  moments  of  his  awakening  he  had  a clear 
recollection  of  what  awaited  him,  and  he  joyfully  remem- 
bered her  kisses,  the  pressure  of  her  rough  hands,  and 
her  words,  “ What  white  hands  you  have  ! ” He  jumped 
up,  and  wanted  to  go  at  once  to  the  ensign  to  sue  for 
Maryanka’s  hand.  The  sun  had  not  yet  risen,  and  it 
seemed  to  Olenin  that  there  was  an  uncommon  commo- 
tion in  the  street : people  were  walking,  riding,  and 
talking.  He  threw  over  him  his  mantle  and  sprang  out 
on  the  porch.  The  ensign’s  family  was  not  yet  up.  Five 
Cossacks  rode  by,  conversing  noisily  about  something. 
They  were  preceded  by  Lukashka,  who  rode  his  broad- 
shouldered  Kabarda  horse.  The  Cossacks  were  talking 
and  shouting ; it  was  impossible  to  make  out  what  they 
were  saying. 

“ Ride  out  to  the  upper  post ! ” cried  one. 

“ Saddle,  and  be  up  with  us  at  once ! ” said  another. 

“ It  will  be  nearer  to  go  by  that  gate.” 

“Nonsense!”  cried  Lukashka.  “We  must  go  through 
the  middle  gate.” 

“ From  there  it  is  nearer,”  said  one  of  the  Cossacks, 
dust-covered,  and  riding  a sweaty  horse.  Lukashka’s  face 
was  flushed  and  swollen  from  the  carousal  of  the  night 
before ; his  cap  was  poised  on  the  back  of  his  head.  He 
shouted  in  a commanding  voice,  as  though  he  were  the 
superior. 

“ What  is  up  ? Whither  are  you  going  ? ” asked 
293 


294 


THE  COSSACKS 


Olenin,  finding  it  difficult  to  direct  the  Cossacks’  attention 
to  himself. 

“We  are  going  out  to  catch  some  abreks.  They  are 
sitting  on  the  sand-dunes.  We  shall  ride  out  at  once, 
but  we  have  not  enough  people  with  us.” 

The  Cossacks,  continuing  to  shout  and  to  get  ready, 
passed  along  the  street.  It  occurred  to  Olenin  that  it 
would  not  be  well  if  he  did  not  go  with  them ; besides, 
he  thought  he  would  return  soon.  He  dressed  himself, 
loaded  his  gun,  jumped  on  his  horse,  which  had  been 
half-saddled  by  Vanyusha,  and  caught  up  with  the  Cos- 
sacks as  they  were  leaving  the  village.  The  Cossacks 
were  standing  around  in  a circle,  hurrying  to  be  off ; 
they  were  pouring  some  red  wine  into  a wooden  bowl 
from  a cask  that  had  just  been  brought  there,  and,  pass- 
ing it  around,  were  drinking  for  a propitious  expedition. 
Among  them  was  also  a young  foppish  ensign,  who 
happened  to  be  in  the  village,  and  who  had  assumed  the 
command  of  the  nine  Cossacks  present.  The  Cossacks 
who  had  gathered  there  were  of  the  rank  and  file,  and 
though  the  ensign  had  the  appearance  of  the  leader  of 
the  expedition,  they  all  obeyed  only  Lukashka. 

The  Cossacks  did  not  pay  the  least  attention  to  Olenin. 
When  they  had  all  mounted  their  horses  and  started  off, 
and  Olenin,  riding  up  to  the  ensign,  began  to  inquire 
about  the  affair,  the  ensign,  who  usually  was  kindly  dis- 
posed, looked  down  upon  him  from  the  height  of  his 
magnificence.  With  great  difficulty  Olenin  managed  to 
get  some  information  from  him.  A patrol,  which  had 
been  sent  out  to  look  for  abr4ks,  had  discovered  some 
mountaineers  about  eight  versts  from  the  village,  on  the 
dunes.  The  abreks  were  entrenched  in  a ditch,  and 
threatened  that  they  would  not  be  taken  alive.  The 
under-officer,  who  was  on  the  patrol  with  two  more  Cos- 
sacks, remained  behind  to  keep  watch  on  them,  and  had 
sent  one  of  the  Cossacks  to  the  village  to  get  reenforcement. 


THE  COSSACKS 


295 


The  sun  had  just  begun  to  rise.  About  three  versts 
from  the  village,  the  steppe  stretched  out  on  all  sides, 
and  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  the  monotonous,  melan- 
choly, dry  plain,  with  the  sand  tracked  by  the  cattle,  with 
here  and  there  some  withered  grass,  with  low  reeds  in  the 
lowlands,  with  now  and  then  barely  perceptible  paths, 
and  with  the  Nogay  camps  that  were  visible  somewhere 
in  the  distance  along  the  horizon.  The  absence  of  shade 
and  the  severe  aspect  of  the  locality  were  very  striking. 

The  sun  always  rises  and  sets  red  in  the  steppe.  The 
wind,  when  there  is  any,  moves  whole  mountains  of  sand. 
When  the  air  is  calm,  as  it  was  on  that  morning,  the 
quiet,  which  is  broken  by  neither  motion  nor  sound,  is 
especially  impressive.  On  that  morning  the  steppe  was 
calm  and  gloomy,  even  though  the  sun  was  up  ; the  steppe 
was  quite  deserted,  and  the  air  was  mellow.  Not  a breeze 
stirred.  One  could  hear  only  the  tramping  and  snorting 
of  the  horses ; but  even  these  sounds  were  feeble,  and  soon 
died  away.  The  Cossacks  generally  rode  in  silence. 
Their  weapons  are  always  so  adjusted  that  they  shall 
neither  clank  nor  clatter.  A clattering  weapon  is  the 
greatest  disgrace  to  a Cossack.  Two  Cossacks  from  the 
village  caught  up  with  them  on  the  road,  and  exchanged 
two  or  three  words  with  them. 

Lukashka’s  horse  either  stumbled  or  caught  his  foot  in 
the  grass,  and  accelerated  his  steps.  That  is  a bad  omen 
with  the  Cossacks.  The  Cossacks  looked  around  and 
immediately  turned  back  their  faces,  trying  not  to  pay 
any  attention  to  the  incident,  which  at  that  moment  had 
a particular  significance.  Lukashka  pulled  the  reins, 
frowned  severely,  clinched  his  teeth,  and  cracked  his  whip 
overhead.  The  good  Kabarda  steed  brought  all  his  legs 
in  motion,  undecided  which  one  to  put  down  first,  and  as 
though  desirous  of  rising  on  wings  ; but  Lukashka  warmed 
him  up  with  the  whip  over  his  plump  flanks,  then  a sec- 
ond time,  and  a third,  — and  the  Kabarda  steed,  showing 


296 


THE  COSSACKS 


his  teeth,  raising  his  tail,  and  rearing  on  his  hind  legs, 
fell  a few  paces  behind  the  other  horses. 

“ Ah,  that  is  a fine  steed  ! ” said  the  ensign. 

His  using  the  word  “ steed  ” for  “ horse  ” was  meant  as 
a special  praise  of  the  animal. 

“ A lion  of  a horse,”  affirmed  one  of  the  older  Cos- 
sacks. 

The  Cossacks  rode  on  in  silence,  now  at  a walk,  now  at 
a trot,  and  only  that  one  incident  interrupted  for  a mo- 
ment the  quiet  and  solemnity  of  the  motion. 

In  the  eight  versts  of  their  ride  over  the  steppe,  they 
met  no  signs  of  life  but  a Nogay  tent  which,  being  placed 
on  an  ox-cart,  was  slowly  moving  about  a verst  away 
from  them.  It  was  a Nogay  who  was  moving  with  his 
family  from  one  camping-ground  to  another.  In  a low, 
marshy  place  they  met  two  Nogay  women  with  high 
cheek-bones,  who,  with  wicker  baskets  on  their  backs, 
were  collecting  the  dung  of  the  cattle  roving  on  the 
steppe,  for  fuel.  The  ensign,  who  spoke  poor  Kumyk, 
began  to  ask  something  of  the  Nogay  women ; but  they 
did  not  understand  him,  and  glanced  at  each  other,  obvi- 
ously terrified. 

Lukashka  rode  up,  checked  in  his  horse,  briskly  uttered 
the  customary  salutation,  and  the  women  were  evidently 
reassured,  and  spoke  with  him  as  with  their  own. 

“ Ay,  ay,  hop  abrek  ! ” they  said,  pitifully,  pointing  in 
the  direction  in  which  the  Cossacks  were  riding.  Oldnin 
understood  that  they  were  saying  “ Many  abreks  ! ” 

Having  never  taken  part  in  such  an  affair,  and  knowing 
of  it  only  through  Uncle  Eroshka’s  recitals,  Oldnin  did 
not  wish  to  stay  away  from  the  Cossacks,  but  to  see  it 
all  himself.  He  admired  the  Cossacks,  watched  and 
listened,  and  made  his  observations.  Although  he  had 
taken  with  him  his  sabre  and  a loaded  gun,  he,  noticing 
that  the  Cossacks  were  keeping  aloof  from  him,  decided 
not  to  take  any  part  in  the  action,  especially  since  his 


THE  COSSACKS 


297 


courage,  to  his  thinking,  had  been  proved  at  the  frontier, 
and  chiefly  because  he  was  so  happy  now. 

Suddenly  a shot  was  heard  in  the  distance. 

The  ensign  was  agitated  and  began  to  give  orders  to 
the  Cossacks,  how  to  separate,  and  from  what  side  to 
approach  them.  But  the  Cossacks  obviously  did  not  pay 
the  least  attention  to  his  commands,  and  listened  only  to 
what  Lukashka  told  them,  and  watched  him  only.  In 
Lukashka’ s face  and  whole  figure  was  expressed  calm  and 
solemnity.  He  made  his  steed  go  at  an  amble,  so  that 
the  other  horses,  that  were  going  at  a walk,  fell  behind, 
and,  blinking,  kept  on  looking  into  the  distance. 

“ Here  is  one  on  horseback,”  he  said,  checking  his 
horse,  and  falling  in  with  the  others. 

Olenin  gazed  sharply,  but  could  not  see  anything.  The 
Cossacks  soon  distinguished  two  horsemen,  and  in  a quiet 
walk  rode  up  toward  them. 

“ Are  these  the  abreks  ? ” asked  Offinin. 

The  Cossacks  did  not  reply  to  this  question,  which  to 
them  was  foolish.  The  abreks  would  have  been  silly 
to  cross  on  this  side  of  the  river  with  their  horses. 

“ Brother  Rodka  is  waving  his  hand  to  us,  I think,” 
said  Lukashka,  pointing  to  the  two  men  on  horseback, 
who  now  could  be  clearly  seen.  “ He  is  coming  up  to 
us.” 

Indeed,  in  a few  minutes  it  became  obvious  that  the 
men  on  horseback  were  the  Cossacks  of  the  patrol,  and 
soon  the  under-officer  rode  up  to  Lukashka. 


XLI. 


“ Is  it  far  ? ” was  all  Lukashka  asked. 

At  the  same  time  a short  report  of  a gun  was  heard 
within  thirty  paces.  The  under-officer  smiled  slightly. 

“ Our  Gurka  is  firing  at  them,”  he  said,  nodding  his 
head  in  the  direction  of  the  report. 

Having  ridden  a few  more  steps,  they  saw  Gurka  sit- 
ting behind  a sand-hill  and  loading  his  gun.  To  kill 
time,  Gurka  kept  on  shooting  at  the  abreks,  who  were 
sitting  behind  another  sand-hill.  A bullet  whistled  by 
from  there. 

The  ensign  was  pale  and  confused.  Lukashka  dis- 
mounted from  his  horse,  turned  him  over  to  a Cossack, 
and  walked  over  to  Gurka.  Olenin  did  the  same,  and, 
bending  down,  followed  him.  No  sooner  had  they  reached 
the  Cossack  who  was  firing  than  two  bullets  whistled 
over  their  heads.  Lukashka  smiled  and,  looking  at 
Olenin,  crouched  down. 

“ They  will  kill  you  if  you  don’t  look  out,  Andreevich,” 
he  said.  “ You  had  better  go  away.  You  have  no  busi- 
ness here.” 

But  Olenin  was  anxious  to  see  the  abreks. 

He  saw  behind  a mound,  about  two  hundred  paces 
from  him,  caps  and  guns.  Suddenly  a smoke  appeared, 
and  another  bullet  whizzed  by.  The  abreks  were  sitting 
below  the  hill,  in  a swamp.  Olenin  was  impressed  by 
the  place  where  they  were  entrenched.  The  spot  was 
just  like  the  rest  of  the  steppe,  but  the  fact  that  it  was 


THE  COSSACKS 


299 


occupied  by  the  abreks  somehow  separated  it  from  every- 
thing else  and  gave  it  a special  significance.  It  appeared 
to  him  to  be  just  the  place  for  abr4ks  to  occupy.  Lu- 
k^shka  returned  to  his  horse,  and  Olenin  followed  him. 

u We  must  take  the  ox-cart  with  the  hay,”  said  Lu- 
kdshka,  “or  else  they  will  kill  us  all.  There,  beyond 
a mound,  stands  the  ox-cart  with  the  hay.” 

The  ensign  listened  to  him,  and  the  under-officer  agreed 
with  him.  The  hay-wagon  was  brought  up,  and  the  Cos- 
sacks, hiding  behind  it,  began  to  spread  the  hay  as  a 
protection.  Olenin  rode  out  on  a mound,  from  which 
everything  could  be  seen.  The  hay- wagon  moved  ahead ; 
the  Cossacks  pressed  closely  together  back  of  it.  The 
Cossacks  moved  forward ; the  Chechens  — there  were 
nine  of  them  — were  sitting  in  a row,  knee  to  knee,  and 
did  not  shoot. 

Everything  was  quiet.  Suddenly  on  the  side  of  the 
Chechens  rang  out  the  strange  sounds  of  a weird  song, 
resembling  the  “ Ay  dalalay  ” of  Uncle  Eroshka.  The 
Chechens  knew  that  there  wTas  no  escape  for  them,  and, 
to  free  themselves  from  the  temptation  of  running  away, 
they  tied  themselves  together  with  leather  straps,  knee 
to  knee,  got  their  guns  ready,  and  tuned  the  death-song. 

The  Cossacks  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  them  with  the 
hay-wagon,  and  Olenin  expected  to  hear  a fusilade  any 
moment ; but  the  calm  was  broken  only  by  the  weird 
song  of  the  abreks.  Suddenly  the  song  was  ended ; there 
was  heard  a short  report ; a bullet  struck  against  the  cart- 
chain  ; Chechen  curses  and  shouts  rang  out.  One  shot 
after  another  was  fired,  and  one  bullet  after  another  struck 
the  wagon.  The  Cossacks  did  not  shoot,  though  they 
were  within  five  steps  of  the  Chechens. 

Another  moment  passed,  and  the  Cossacks,  shouting 
the  war-cry,  rushed  out  on  both  sides  of  the  wagon.  Lu- 
kdshka  was  in  the  lead.  Olenin  heard  but  a few  shots 
fired,  then  crying  and  groaning.  He  saw  smoke,  and 


300 


THE  COSSACKS 


blood,  as  he  thought.  He  left  his  horse,  and  beside  him- 
self rushed  up  to  the  Cossacks.  Terror  shrouded  his 
eyes.  He  could  not  make  out  anything,  but  he  under- 
stood that  everything  was  ended.  Lukashka,  pale  as 
a sheet,  was  holding  a Chechen  by  his  arm,  and  crying, 
“ Don't  kill  him  ! I will  take  him  alive  ! ” The  Chechen 
was  the  same  red-haired  fellow,  the  brother  of  the  dead 
abr6k,  who  had  come  to  get  his  body.  Lukashka  was 
twisting  his  arms.  Suddenly  the  abrek  tore  himself  loose 
and  shot  at  him  with  his  pistol.  Lukashka  staggered  and 
fell.  On  his  abdomen  appeared  some  blood.  He  jumped 
up,  but  again  fell  down,  cursing  in  .Russian  and  in  Tartar. 
The  blood  on  him  and  under  him  grew  ever  more  abundant. 
The  Cossacks  walked  over  to  him,  and  began  to  take  off 
his  belt.  One  of  them,  Nazarka,  before  helping  him,  was 
for  quite  awhile  unable  to  sheathe  his  sabre,  as  he  put  it 
in  the  wrong  way.  The  blade  was  all  bloody. 

The  Chechdns,  with  their  hair  dyed  red,  and  clipped 
moustaches,  lay  dead  and  hacked  to  pieces.  Only  one, 
the  same  that  had  shot  Lukashka,  lay  alive,  though 
severely  wounded.  Like  a wounded  hawk,  all  drenched 
with  blood  (blood  was  flowing  from  his  right  eye),  clinch- 
ing his  teeth,  pale  and  gloomy,  surveying  everything  with 
his  large  excited  eyes,  he  sat  on  his  heels,  holding  a dag- 
ger, and  ready  to  defend  himself  again.  The  ensign 
walked  over  to  him,  and,  pretending  to  make  a circuit 
round  him,  with  a rapid  motion  fired  his  pistol  at  his  ear. 
The  Chechen  darted  forward,  but  he  fell  before  he  could 
rise. 

The  Cossacks,  out  of  breath,  pulled  the  dead  to  one 
side,  and  took  off  their  weapons.  Each  of  these  red- 
haired  Chechens  was  a man ; each  had  his  own  peculiar 
features.  Lukashka  was  carried  to  the  cart.  He  kept 
swearing  in  Russian  and  in  Tartar. 

"You  are  lying,  I will  choke  you  with  my  hands! 
You  will  not  get  away  from  my  hands ! Anna  seni  ! 99 


THE  COSSACKS 


301 


he  cried,  making  an  effort  to  rush  forward.  Soon  he 
grew  silent  from  loss  of  blood. 

Olenin  rode  home.  In  the  evening  he  was  told  that 
Lukashka  was  mortally  wounded,  but  that  a Tartar  from 
across  the  river  had  undertaken  to  cure  him. 

The  bodies  were  all  dragged  to  the  village  office. 
Women  and  children  ran  there  to  see  them. 

Offinin  returned  home  at  dusk,  and  could  not  collect 
himself  for  a long  time  from  the  horrors  which  he  had 
witnessed.  In  the  evening  the  recollections  of  the  day 
again  burst  upon  him.  Maryanka  was  going  to  and  fro 
from  the  house  to  the  shed,  attending  to  her  household 
duties.  Her  mother  had  gone  to  the  vineyard.  Her 
father  was  at  the  office.  Offinin  did  not  wait  for  her  to 
get  through  with  her  work,  and  walked  up  to  her.  She 
was  in  the  house,  standing  with  her  back  to  hinir~~014nin 
thought  she  was  embarrassed. 

“ Maryanka,”  he  said,  “ oh,  Maryanka ! May  I come 
in?” 

Suddenly  she  turned  around.  In  her  eyes  stood  barely 
perceptible  tears.  In  her  face  was  fair  sorrow.  She 
looked  at  him  silently  and  majestically. 

Olenin  repeated : 

“ Maryanka ! I have  come  — ” 

“ Leave  me,”  she  said.  Her  face  did  not  change,  but 
tears  gushed  from  her  eyes. 

“ What  is  it  about  ? What  is  the  matter  ? ” 

“ What  ? ” she  repeated,  in  a coarse  and  harsh  voice. 
“ Cossacks  have  been  killed,  that  is  the  matter.” 

“ Lukashka  ? ” asked  014nin. 

“ Go  away  ! What  do  you  want  ? ” 

“ Maryanka  ! ” said  Offinin,  walking  over  to  her. 

“ Never  will  you  get  anything  from  me.” 

“ Maryanka,  don’t  say  that,”  Olenin  implored  her. 

“ Go  away  ! I am  tired  of  you ! ” cried  the  girl,  stamp- 
ing her  foot,  and  moving  toward  him  with  a threatening 


302 


THE  COSSACKS 


mien.  Her  face  expressed  such  disgust,  contempt,  and 
fury,  that  Olenin  suddenly  understood  that  he  had 
nothing  to  hope  for,  and  that  what  he  had  formerly 
thought  of  the  unapproachability  of  this  woman  was  an 
undeniable  fact. 

Olenin  did  not  say  anything,  and  ran  out  of  the  room. 


XLII. 


After  returning  home,  he  lay  for  two  hours  motion- 
less on  his  bed  ; then  he  went  to  the  captain,  and  asked  for 
leave  to  visit  the  staff.  He  did  not  bid  any  one  farewell, 
but  sent  his  rent  to  the  ensign  through  Vanyusha,  and 
got  ready  to  journey  to  the  fortress  where  the  regiment 
was  stationed.  Only  Uncle  Eroshka  saw  him  off.  They 
drank  together  a glass,  and  then  another,  and  then  again. 
Just  as  upon  his  departure  from  Moscow,  the  stage  three- 
span  stood  at  the  door.  But  Olenin  did  not  cast  his 
accounts  with  himself,  as  then,  and  did  not  say  to  him- 
self that  all  he  had  been  thinking  and  doing  here  was 
not  that.  He  did  not  promise  himself  a new  life.  He 
loved  Maryanka  more  than  ever,  and  he  knew  that 
he  could  never  be  loved  by  her. 

“ Well,  good-bye,  my  father  ! ” said  Uncle  Erdshka.  “ If 
you  ever  take  part  in  a campaign,  be  wiser,  and  listen 
to  the  advice  of  an  old  man.  If  you  are  out  on  an  incur- 
sion, or  wherever  else  it  may  be,  — I am  an  old  wolf, 
and  have  seen  everything,  — and  there  is  some  firing, 
don’t  go  into  a crowd  where  there  are  many  people 
together.  F,or  it  is  the  habit  of  you  people,  whenever 
you  get  scared,  to  jam  together  in  a throng,  thinking  that 
it  is  merrier  where  there  are  a lot  of  you ; but  it  is  worse : 
the  enemy  always  aims  into  a crowd.  I always  used  to 
keep  away  from  people,  and  to  walk  by  myself,  and 
so  I have  never  been  wounded.  And  I have  seen  a 
great  deal  in  my  lifetime.” 

“ But  you  have  a bullet  in  your  back ! ” said  Vanyusha, 
who  was  cleaning  up  the  room. 

303 


304 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ The  Cossacks  did  that  while  on  a spree,”  replied 
Eroshka. 

“ The  Cossacks  ? How  so  ? ” asked  Olenin. 

“Like  this!  They  were  drinking.  Vanka  Sitkin,  a 
Cossack,  was  pretty  drunk,  and  he  took  out  his  pistol, 
and  bang ! sent  a bullet  right  into  this  spot.” 

“Did  it  pain  you?”  asked  Olenin.  “Vanyusha,  will 
you  be  done  soon  ? ” he  added. 

“ Oh,  in  what  a hurry  you  are ! Let  me  tell  you  — 
He  fired  off;  the  bullet  did  not  break  my  bone,  but 
stopped  right  here.  And  so  I told  him : ‘ You  have 
killed  me,  brother ! Eh  ! What  have  you  done  to  me  ? 
I will  not  let  you  off  so  easily.  You  will  have  to  treat 
me  to  a bucket  of  wine/  ” 

“ Well,  did  it  hurt  you  ? ” again  asked  014nin,  scarcely 
hearing  his  story. 

“ Let  me  tell  it  to  you.  He  put  up  the  bucket.  We 
drank  together.  And  the  blood  was  running  all  the  time. 
I soiled  the  whole  room  with  my  blood.  Then  Grand- 
father Clodhopper  said : ‘ The  fellow  will  surely  die.  Let 
us  have  another  stoup  of  sweet  wine,  or  else  we  will  have 
you  in  court/  They  brought  some  more.  And  we  filled 
ourselves  up  — ” 

“ Well,  did  it  hurt  you  ? ” again  asked  Olenin. 

“ Did  it  hurt  ? Don’t  interrupt  me  ! I don’t  like  that. 
Let  me  tell  you  the  rest.  We  drank,  and  drank,  and 
celebrated  until  morning,  and  I fell  asleep  on  the  oven, 
drunk.  When  I awoke  in  the  morning,  I could  not 
unbend  myself.” 

“ Was  it  very  painful  ? ” repeated  014nin,  thinking  that 
now,  at  last,  he  would  got  an  answer  to  his  question. 

“ Did  I tell  you  it  hurt  ? It  did  not  hurt,  only  I could 
not  bend,  nor  walk.” 

“Well,  and  it  healed  up?”  said  Olenin,  not  even 
laughing,  his  heart  was  so  heavy. 

“Yes,  but  the  bullet  is  still  there.  Just  feel  it!” 


THE  COSSACKS 


305 


And  he  rolled  up  his  shirt  and  showed  his  broad  back, 
where  a bullet  was  loosely  encased  near  the  bone. 

“ Do  you  see  how  it  rolls  around  ? ” he  said,  evidently 
pleased  with  the  bullet  as  with  a toy.  “Now  it  has 
rolled  over  to  the  back.” 

“ Well,  will  Lukashka  live  ? ” asked  Olenin. 

“ God  knows ! There  is  no  doctor  here.  They  have 
gone  for  one.” 

“ Where  will  they  get  one  ? At  Groznaya  ? ” asked 
Olenin. 

“ No,  my  father,  I would  long  ago  have  cut  the  throats 
of  your  Russian  doctors,  if  I wrere  the  Ts&r.  All  they 
know  is  to  cut.  They  have  spoiled  our  Cossack  Baklashev, 
by  taking  off  his  leg.  Consequently  they  are  fools. 
What  is  Baklashev  good  for  now?  No,  my  father,  in 
the  mountains  there  are  genuine  doctors.  During  an  ex- 
pedition my  friend  Vorchik  was  wrounded  right  here, 
in  the  chest,  and  your  doctors  gave  him  up,  but  Saib 
came  down  from  the  mountains  and  cured  him.  They 
know  all  kinds  of  herbs,  my  father.” 

“ Stop  talking  nonsense,”  said  Olenin.  “ I had  better 
send  the  surgeon  from  the  staff.” 

“Nonsense?”  the  old  man  mimicked  him.  “Fool, 
fool ! Nonsense ! Send  the  surgeon  ! If  your  surgeons 
knew  how  to  cure,  the  Cossacks  and  the  Chechens  would 
go  to  get  cured  by  them,  whereas,  your  officers  and  colo- 
nels send  for  the  doctors  from  the  mountains.  It  is 
false,  all  false,  with  you  people.” 

Olenin  did  not  try  to  retort.  He  wTas  too  much  of  the 
opinion  that  everything  was  false  in  the  world  in  which 
he  used  to  live,  and  to  which  he  was  now  going  to 
return. 

“ How  about  Lukashka  ? Have  you  seen  him  ? ” he 
asked. 

“He  is  lying  like  one  dead.  He  neither  eats  nor 
drinks.  He  won’t  stand  anything  but  brandy.  Well,  he 


306 


THE  COSSACKS 


is  drinking  brandy,  — that's  all  right.  I am  sorry  for 
the  fellow.  He  was  a good  fellow,  a brave,  just  like  my- 
self. I was  once  on  the  point  of  dying,  and  the  women 
were  howling,  and  howling.  My  head  was  hot.  They 
already  accounted  me  a saint.  And  so  I was  lying,  and 
right  above  me,  on  the  oven,  tiny  little  drummers  were 
sounding  the  reveille.  I shouted  to  them,  but  they  only 
drummed  so  much  the  harder."  The  old  man  laughed. 
“ The  women  brought  the  chanter  to  me ; they  wanted  to 
bury  me,  and  so  they  said : ‘ He  has  led  a worldly  life, 
has  kept  company  with  women,  has  ruined  souls,  has 
eaten  meat  on  fast-days,  has  played  the  balaMyka.  Re- 
pent,' they  said.  And  so  I began  to  repent.  ‘I  have 
sinned,'  says  I.  No  matter  what  the  pope  said,  I re- 
peated, 4 1 have  sinned.'  He  began  to  ask  me  about  the 
balalayka.  ‘ Where  is  it,  that  accursed  thing  ? ' says  he. 
‘ Let  me  have  it,  so  I may  smash  it.’  And  I said  I did 
not  have  it;  but  I had  myself  hidden  it  away  in  the 
dairy  in  a net.  I knew  they  would  not  find  it.  And 
they  gave  me  up.  And  I came  to.  And  again  I started 
to  scrape  the  balalayka  — So,  what  was  I saying  ? " he 
continued.  “ Take  my  advice,  and  keep  away  from 
crowds,  or  you  will  be  killed.  I am  sorry  for  you,  truly, 
I am.  You  are  a toper,  I like  you.  The  rest  of  you  fel- 
lows are  fond  of  riding  out  to  the  mounds.  There  was 
one  of  them  living  here.  He  had  come  from  Russia,  and 
he  had  such  a passion  for  mounds ! Every  time  he  saw 
a mound,  he  rode  out  to  it.  Once  he  galloped  off.  He 
galloped,  and  was  so  happy  about  it ! And  a Chechen 
shot  at  him,  and  killed  him.  The  Chechens  are  such  fine 
shots  with  forked  supports.  There  are  better  shots  than 
I am.  I do  not  like  to  see  anybody  killed  in  such  a bad 
manner.  I used  to  look  at  your  soldiers,  and  wonder. 
What  stupidity ! My  darlings  walk  together  in  a mass, 
and,  besides,  wear  such  red  collars.  How  can  one  help 
hitting  them?  They  kill  one  man,  and  while  he  is 


THE  COSSACKS 


307 


dragged  off,  another  man  takes  his  place.  What  stupid- 
ity ! ” repeated  the  old  man,  shaking  his  head.  “ They 
ought  to  scatter,  and  walk  one  by  one.  And  they  ought 
to  walk  as  if  nothing  were  the  matter.  Then  they  would 
not  find  you  out.  That's  the  way  it  ought  to  be  done." 

“ Well,  good-bye,  uncle  ! If  God  will  grant  it,  we  shall 
see  each  other  again,"  said  Olenin,  rising  and  walking  out 
to  the  vestibule. 

The  old  man  was  sitting  on  the  floor,  and  did  not  get 

up. 

“ Is  this  the  way  to  say  farewell  ? Fool,  fool ! " he 
said.  “ What  people  they  are  now ! He  has  kept  com- 
pany with  me,  a whole  year  he  has  kept  company,  and 
now,  ‘ Good-bye,'  and  off  he  goes.  Don’t  you  know,  I love 
you,  and  am  sorry  for  you  ? You  are  so  gloomy,  so 
lonely,  such  a lonely  man ! You  are  so  shy ! Many  a 
time,  when  I could  not  sleep,  have  I thought  of  you,  and 
felt  sorry  for  you.  As  the  song  says : 

“ ‘ Not  so  easy,  my  dear  brother, 

’Tis  in  foreign  lands  to  live.* 

And  so  it  is  with  you.” 

“ Well,  good-bye,"  again  said  Olenin. 

The  old  man  got  up  and  gave  him  his  hand.  Ol&dn 
pressed  it,  and  wanted  to  leave. 

“ Your  mug,  your  mug  ! Let  me  have  it ! " 

The  old  man  took  him  by  the  head  with  both  his  fat 
hands,  kissed  him  three  times  with  his  wet  moustache 
and  lips,  and  began  to  weep. 

“ I love  you,  good-bye  ! " 

Olenin  seated  himself  in  the  vehicle. 

“ And  so  you  are  going ! Give  me,  at  least,  a memento, 
my  father ! Give  me  a gun.  What  do  you  want  two 
for  ? " said  the  old  man,  sobbing,  and  shedding  real  tears. 

014nin  got  the  gun  and  gave  it  to  him. 


308 


THE  COSSACKS 


“ What  a lot  of  things  you  have  given  that  old  fellow ! ” 
grumbled  Vanyusha,  “and  it  is  still  too  little  for  him! 
Old  beggar  ! What  unreliable  people  ! ” he  said,  wrapping 
himself  up  in  his  overcoat,  and  taking  his  seat  on  the 
box. 

“ Shut  up,  swine  ! ” cried  the  old  man,  laughing.  “ I 
declare,  he  is  stingy  ! ” 

Maryanka  came  out  of  the  shed,  glanced  indifferently 
at  the  troyka,  and,  bowing,  walked  into  the  cabin. 

“La  fille  ! ” said  Vanyusha,  winking,  and  giving  a dull 
laugh. 

“ Go,”  Olenin  cried,  angrily. 

“ Good-bye,  father  ! Good-bye,  I will  remember  you  ! ” 
exclaimed  Eroshka. 

Olenin  looked  back.  Uncle  Eroshka  was  talking  to 
Maryanka,  apparently  about  his  own  affairs,  and  neither 
the  old  man  nor  the  girl  was  looking  at  him. 


SEVASTOPOL 

In  December,  1854,  and  in  May  and  August,  1855 
1854-1856 


SEVASTOPOL 

In  December,  1854 


The  dawn  is  just  beginning  to  crimson  the  sky  above 
Mount  Sapiln.  The  dark  blue  surface  of  the  sea  has  cast 
off  the  nocturnal  darkness,  and  is  waiting  for  the  first  ray, 
in  order  to  gleam  forth  in  gay  splendour.  From  the  bay 
is  wafted  cold  and  mist ; there  is  no  snow,  and  every- 
thing is  black,  but  the  sharp  morning  frost  pinches  the 
face  and  crackles  underfoot,  and  the  distant,  ceaseless 
roar  of  the  sea,  now  and  then  interrupted  by  the  booming 
of  guns  at  Sevastopol,  alone  breaks  the  morning  quiet. 
The  ships  are  dark ; eight  bells  are  sounding. 

On  the  Northern  side  the  activity  of  the  day  slowly  be- 
gins to  replace  the  calm  of  the  night.  Here  passes  a 
patrol  to  relieve  some  sentinels,  clanking  their  guns ; 
there  a surgeon  is  already  hastening  to  the  hospital ; 
there  a soldier  has  crept  out  of  his  earth  hut  and  is  wash- 
ing his  sunburnt  face  with  ice-crusted  water,  and,  turning 
to  the  ruddy  east,  and  swiftly  crossing  himself,  says  his 
prayers;  here  a tall,  heavy  camel  cart,  with  creaking 
wheels,  is  creeping  to  the  cemetery  to  bury  the  blood- 
stained dead,  with  whom  it  is  loaded  almost  to  the  top. 

You  walk  down  to  the  harbour.  You  are  struck  by  a 
peculiar  odour  of  coal,  dung,  dampness,  and  beef.  A 


312 


SEVASTOPOL 


thousand  different  objects,  wood,  meat,  gabions,  flour,  iron, 
are  lying  in  heaps  on  the  quay.  Soldiers  of  various  regi- 
ments, with  bags  and  guns,  without  bags  and  without 
guns,  are  crowding  here,  smoking,  swearing,  dragging 
heavy  burdens  to  a steamboat  which,  puffing  smoke,  is 
lying  near  the  landing.  Private  two-oared  boats,  filled 
with  all  kinds  of  people,  — soldiers,  sailors,  merchants, 
women,  — are  landing  or  leaving  the  quay. 

“ To  the  Grafskaya,  your  Honour  ? Please  ! ” Two  or 
three  former  sailors,  getting  out  of  their  boats,  are  offer- 
ing you  their  services. 

You  choose  the  one  who  is  nearest  to  you,  step  across 
the  half-decayed  carcass  of  a chestnut  horse,  which  is 
lying  in  the  mud  near  the  boat,  and  walk  over  to  the 
stern.  You  push  off  from  the  shore.  All  around  you 
is  the  sea,  glittering  in  the  morning  sun  ; before  you  is 
an  old  sailor  in  a camers-hair  overcoat,  and  a fair-haired 
young  boy,  intently  pulling  at  the  oar  in  silence.  You 
look  at  the  outstretched  masses  of  the  ships  scattered  far 
and  wide  over  the  bay ; at  the  diminutive  black  dots  of 
the  sloops  moving  on  the  brilliant  azure  of  the  sea  ; at  the 
beautiful,  bright  structures  of  the  city  that  may  be  dis- 
cerned on  the  other  side,  tinged  by  the  purple  beams 
of  the  morning  sun  ; at  the  foaming  white  line  of  the 
mole ; at  the  submerged  ships  from  which  tower  mourn- 
fully the  black  tops  of  masts ; at  the  far-off  hostile  fleet 
shimmering  on  the  crystal  horizon  of  the  ocean ; at  the 
frothing  streaks,  in  which  leap  the  briny  bubbles  raised 
by  the  oars ; you  hear  the  even  sound  of  voices  which 
reaches  you  over  the  water,  and  the  ma  jestic  sounds  of 
firing  which,  so  you  think,  is  growing  louder  in  Sevas- 
topol. 

At  the  thought  of  being  in  Sevastopol,  you  are  invol- 
untarily stirred  by  a certain  feeling  of  courage  and  pride, 
and  your  blood  begins  to  course  more  rapidly  in  your 
veins. 


SEVASTOPOL 


313 


« Your  Honour ! Make  straight  for  Kistentin”  1 the 
old  sailor  tells  you,  turning  back  in  order  to  verify  the 
direction  which  you  are  giving  to  the  boat  on  the  right  of 
the  rudder. 

“ She  has  still  all  her  guns,”  remarks  the  fair-haired  lad, 
passing  by  the  vessel,  and  scrutinizing  it. 

“ Why,  of  course.  She  is  a new  boat : Kornilov  has 
been  living  on  her,”  remarked  the  old  man,  also  gazing  at 
the  vessel. 

“ I declare,  it  did  burst ! ” says  the  boy,  gazing,  after  a 
prolonged  silence,  at  the  white  cloud  of  a dispersing 
smoke,  which  had  suddenly  appeared  high  over  the  south- 
ern bay,  and  which  is  accompanied  by  the  sharp  sound  of 
an  exploding  bomb. 

“ He  is  firing  to-day  from  the  new  battery,”  adds  the 
old  man,  with  equanimity  spitting  on  his  hand.  “ Come 
now,  give  way,  Mishka,  let  us  overtake  the  long-boat ! ” 
And  your  boat  moves  more  rapidly  ahead  over  the  broadly 
billowing  bay,  really  overtakes  the  heavy  long-boat  filled 
with  some  kind  of  bags,  and  unevenly  propelled  by 
awkward  soldiers,  and  lands,  among  numerous  craft  along- 
side the  shore,  at  the  Gr^fskaya  quay. 

On  the  shore  move  about  noisily  groups  of  soldiers  in 
gray,  sailors  in  black,  and  women  in  variegated  attires. 
Women  are  selling  rolls;  Russian  peasants  with  samovars 
cry,  “ Hot  sbiten ; ”  1  2 and  right  here  on  the  very  first  steps 
lie  in  disorder  rusty  shells,  bombs,  canister-shot,  and  cast- 
iron  cannon  of  various  calibres.  A little  farther  off  is  a 
large  square,  where  are  scattered  huge  beams,  gun-car- 
riages, sleeping  soldiers ; here  stand  horses,  carts,  green 
ordnance  and  caissons,  and  infantry  scaffolding;  there 
move  about  soldiers,  sailors,  officers,  women,  children,  and 
merchants ; there  carts  with  hay,  with  bags,  and  with 

1 The  steamer  Constantine. 

1 A drink  composed  of  hot  water  and  honey.  Sometimes  capsicum 
and  other  spices  are  added. 


314 


SEVASTOPOL 


barrels  drive  around,  and  occasionally  a Cossack  passes  by, 
and  an  officer  on  horseback  or  a general  in  a vehicle,  pass 
by. 

On  the  right,  the  street  is  shut  off  by  a barricade,  in  the 
embrasures  of  which  are  placed  some  small  cannon,  and 
near  them  sits  a sailor,  smoking  his  pipe.  On  the  left  is 
a beautiful  house  with  Roman  figures  on  the  pediment, 
and  beneath  it  stand  soldiers  and  blood-stained  litters,  — 
everywhere  you  see  the  unpleasant  signs  of  a military 
camp. 

Your  first  impression  is  necessarily  most  disagreeable: 
the  strange  mixture  of  camp  and  city  life,  of  the  beautiful 
town  and  the  dirty  bivouac,  is  not  only  not  beautiful,  but 
even  seems  like  vile  disorder ; and  you  imagine  that  every- 
body is  frightened,  that  people  are  bustling  around,  not 
knowing  what  to  do.  But  look  more  closely  into  the 
faces  of  the  men  who  are  moving  about,  and  you  will  get 
a different  impression.  Look,  for  example,  at  this  soldier 
of  the  baggage-train,  who  is  taking  a chestnut  trdyka 
to  the  water,  and  who  is  calmly  mumbling  something  to 
himself ; it  is  evident  that  he  will  not  lose  his  way  in  this 
motley  crowd,  which,  indeed,  does  not  exist  for  him,  and 
that  he  is  executing  his  work,  whatever  it  may  be,  — to 
water  horses  or  drag  ordnance,  — as  calmly,  and  with  the 
same  self-confidence  and  indifference,  as  though  all  this 
were  taking  place  at  Tula  or  at  Saransk.  The  same 
expression  you  read  in  the  countenance  of  this  officer,  who 
passes  by  you  in  immaculately  white  gloves,  and  in  the 
countenance  of  the  sailor,  who  is  smoking  while  sitting  on 
the  barricade,  and  in  the  countenances  of  the  busy  soldiers, 
who  with  the  litters  are  waiting  at  the  steps  of  the 
former  Assembly  House,  and  in  the  countenance  of  this 
maiden,  who,  fearing  to  soil  her  pink  dress,  trips  from 
stone  to  stone  across  the  street. 

Yes,  you  will  certainly  be  disappointed  when  you  first 
enter  Sevastopol.  In  vain  will  you  look  in  one  single 


library 

OF  THE 


SEVASTOPOL 


315 


face  for  traces  of  flurry  and  confusion,  or  even  of  enthusi- 
asm, readiness  to  die,  and  determination.  There  is  noth- 
ing of  that.  You  see  every-day  people  quietly  occupied 
with  every-day  affairs,  so  that  you  will,  no  doubt,  reproach 
yourself  for  your  superabundant  transport,  and  will  be 
inclined  to  question  the  justness  of  the  conception  which 
you  have  formed  about  the  heroism  of  the  defenders 
of  Sevastopol,  from  stories  and  from  description,  and 
from  the  aspect  of  things  and  from  the  sounds  on  the 
Northern  side.  But,  before  expressing  your  doubt,  walk 
down  to  the  bastions,  take  a look  at  the  defenders  of 
Sevastopol  in  the  very  place  of  the  defence,  or,  still  better, 
walk  into  the  house  opposite,  which  used  to  be  the 
Assembly  House  of  the  Sevastopol  nobility,  and  at  the 
entrance  of  which  the  soldiers  are  standing  with  the  lit- 
ters,— and  you  will  there  see  the  defenders  of  Sevastopol; 
you  will  there  see  terrible  and  sad,  great  and  amusing, 
but  surprising  and  exalting  spectacles. 

You  walk  into  the  great  assembly  hall.  You  barely 
open  the  door,  and  you  are  at  once  impressed  by  the  sight 
and  odour  of  forty  or  fifty  patients  who  are  severely 
wounded  or  have  suffered  amputation,  some  on  cots,  but 
most  on  the  floor.  Do  not  trust  your  feeling  which  holds 
you  back  on  the  threshold  of  the  hall,  — it  is  a wrong 
feeling ; walk  on,  and  have  no  shame,  as  though  you  had 
come  to  look  at  the  sufferers.  Do  not  be  ashamed  to 
walk  up  and  talk  to  them : the  unfortunate  like  to  see  a 
sympathetic  human  face,  like  to  tell  of  their  sufferings, 
and  to  hear  the  words  of  love  and  sympathy.  You  pass 
along  the  aisle  between  the  beds,  and  select  a less  severe 
and  agonized  face,  and  you  take  heart  and  walk  over  to 
talk  with  him. 

“ On  what  part  of  the  body  are  you  wounded  ? ” you 
irresolutely  and  timidly  ask  an  old,  haggard  soldier,  who, 
sitting  up  on  his  cot,  follows  you  with  his  good-natured 
glance,  and  almost  invites  you  to  come  over  to  him.  I 


316 


SEVASTOPOL 


say  “ you  ask  timidly,”  because  their  sufferings,  in  addi- 
tion to  your  sympathy,  inspire  you  with  a dread  of  offend- 
ing, and  with  a deep  respect  for  him  who  is  bearing  the 
suifering. 

“ In  my  leg,”  answers  the  soldier ; but  you  immediately 
notice  by  the  folds  of  the  coverlet  that  he  has  lost  his  leg 
above  the  knee.  “ Thank  God  now,”  he  adds,  “ I want  to 
be  discharged.” 

“ How  long  ago  were  you  wounded  ? 99 
“ This  is  the  sixth  week,  sir  ! ” 

“ Does  it  still  hurt  ? ” 

“ No,  it  does  not ; only  in  bad  weather  I have  a kind  of 
pain  in  the  thigh,  that's  all.” 

“ How  did  you  come  to  be  wounded  ? ” 

“ In  the  fifth  baksion , sir,  during  the  first  bardment.  I 
had  trained  my  cannon,  and  was  moving  like  this  toward 
the  second  embrasure,  when  he  struck  me  in  the  leg,  and 
I felt  as  though  I had  stepped  into  a ditch.  I looked 
down,  and  saw  my  leg  was  gone.” 

“ Did  it  really  not  pain  you  at  first  ? ” 

“ No ; only  it  felt  as  though  some  one  had  stuck  some- 
thing hot  into  my  leg.” 

“ And  later  ? ” 

“ And  later  it  did  not  hurt  either ; only  when  they 
began  to  stretch  the  skin,  there  was  a little  itching.  The 
main  thing,  sir,  is  not  to  think : if  you  don't  think 
you  are  all  right.  People  generally  suffer  because  they 
think.” 

Just  then  a woman  in  a gray  striped  dress  and  wrapped 
in  a black  kerchief  walks  over  to  you.  She  takes  part  in 
your  conversation  with  a sailor,  and  begins  to  tell  you 
about  him,  about  his  suffering,  about  the  desperate  condi- 
tion in  which  he  was  for  four  weeks,  and  how,  after  he 
was  wounded,  he  had  them  stop  the  litter  that  he  might 
see  the  volley  of  our  battery ; how  the  grand  dukes 
talked  to  him  and  made  him  a present  of  twenty-five 


SEVASTOPOL 


317 


roubles,  and  how  he  told  them  that  he  wanted  to  go  back 
to  the  bastion,  in  order  to  teach  the  younger  men,  even 
though  he  could  not  work  himself.  Saying  all  this  in  one 
breath,  the  woman  looks  now  at  you,  and  now  at  the 
sailor,  who  turns  away  his  face  as  though  he  did  not  hear 
her  and  picks  at  some  lint  on  the  pillow,  and  her  eyes 
sparkle  with  unusual  enthusiasm. 

“ This  is  my  wife,  sir ! ” remarks  the  sailor,  with  an 
expression  which  says : “ You  must  pardon  her.  Of 
course,  she  is  a woman,  and  she  is  saying  foolish  things.” 

You  begin  to  understand  the  defenders  of  Sevastopol ; 
for  some  unknown  reason  you  feel  ashamed  before  this 
man.  You  would  like  to  tell  him  so  much,  in  order  to 
express  your  sympathy  and  admiration ; but  you  cannot 
find  words,  or  are  dissatisfied  with  those  that  occur  to 
you,  — and  you  bow  in  silence  before  this  speechless, 
unconscious  grandeur  and  firmness  of  spirit,  this  modesty 
as  regards  his  own  worth. 

“ Well,  God  grant  that  you  recover  soon  ! ” you  say  to 
him,  and  you  stop  in  front  of  another  patient,  who  is  lying 
on  the  floor,  and  apparently  awaiting  death  in  unspeakable 
agony. 

It  is  a fair-complexioned  man,  with  a swollen,  pale  face. 
He  is  on  his  back,  his  left  hand  thrown  under  his  head,  in 
an  attitude  expressive  of  excruciating  pain.  The  dry, 
open  mouth  with  difficulty  emits  a stertorous  breath  ; his 
blue,  leaden  eyes  are  turned  upwards,  and  the  bandaged 
stump  of  his  right  arm  protrudes  from  underneath  the 
rumpled  coverlet.  The  oppressive  odour  of  dead  flesh 
impresses  you  still  more  forcibly,  and  the  consuming, 
internal  fire,  which  penetrates  all  the  limbs  of  the  suf- 
ferer, seems  to  penetrate  you,  too. 

“ Is  he  unconscious  ? ” you  ask  the  woman  who  is 
walking  behind  you,  and  who  glances  kindly  at  you,  as  at 
a relative. 

“ No,  he  can  hear  still,  though  very  faintly,”  she  adds, 


318 


SEVASTOPOL 


in  a whisper.  “I  have  offered  him  some  tea  to-day, — - 
well,  even  though  he  is  a stranger  to  me,  I ought  to  pity 
him,  — but  he  hardly  drank  any.” 

“ How  do  you  feel  ? ” you  ask  him. 

The  wounded  soldier  rolls  his  pupils,  in  reply  to  your 
voice,  but  he  does  not  see,  nor  understand  you. 

“ A burning  in  my  heart ! ” 

A little  farther  on,  you  see  an  old  soldier  changing  his 
linen.  His  face  and  body  are  of  an  indefinite  cinnamon 
colour,  and  as  lean  as  a skeleton’s.  He  has  no  arm  at 
all : it  has  been  cauterized  at  the  armpit.  He  sits  up 
briskly ; but  by  his  dull,  dim  eyes,  by  the  terrible  lean- 
ness and  the  wrinkles  of  his  face,  you  see  that  he  is  a 
creature  that  has  forfeited  the  better  part  of  his  life  in 
suffering. 

On  the  other  side,  you  notice  on  a cot  the  agonized, 
pale,  gentle  face  of  a woman,  upon  whose  cheek  plays  a 
feverish  glow. 

“ Our  sailor  woman  was  struck  by  a bomb  on  the  fifth,” 
your  guide  tells  you.  “ She  was  bringing  her  husband  his 
dinner  to  the  bastion.” 

“ Well,  did  they  cut  it  off  ? ” 

“ Yes,  above  the  knee.” 

If  your  nerves  are  strong,  go  now  through  the  door  on 
the  left : in  that  room  they  are  putting  on  bandages  and 
performing  operations.  You  will  there  see  doctors,  with 
arms  blood-stained  up  to  their  elbows,  and  pale,  morose 
countenances,  busy  at  a cot,  on  which,  with  open  eyes  and 
speaking,  as  though  in  delirium,  meaningless  but  some- 
times simple  and  touching  words,  lies  a wounded  soldier, 
under  the  influence  of  chloroform.  The  doctors  are  occu- 
pied with  the  disgusting  but  beneficent  work  of  amputa- 
tion. You  will  see  the  sharp,  bent  knife  entering  the 
healthy  body ; you  will  see  the  wounded  man  suddenly 
come  to  his  senses,  with  a terrible,  piercing  cry,  and  with 
curses;  you  will  see  the  surgeon’s  assistant  throw  the 


SEVASTOPOL 


819 


amputated  arm  into  a corner ; you  will  see,  on  a litter,  in 
the  same  room,  another  wounded  man,  who,  watching  the 
operation  performed  on  his  companion,  writhes  and  groans, 
not  so  much  from  physical  pain,  as  from  the  moral 
anguish  of  anticipation,  — you  will  see  terrible,  soul-stir- 
ring spectacles;  you  will  see  war,  not  in  its  regular, 
beautiful,  and  brilliant  array,  with  music  and  drum-taps, 
with  fluttering  flags,  and  generals  going  through  evolu- 
tions with  their  horses,  but  war  in  its  real  aspect,  — in 
blood,  in  suffering,  in  death. 

Upon  issuing  from  this  house  of  suffering,  you  will  cer- 
tainly experience  a feeling  of  relief ; you  will  breathe  in 
the  fresh  air  with  fuller  lungs,  will  feel  pleasure  in  the 
consciousness  of  your  health,  but,  at  the  same  time,  in 
the  contemplation  of  this  suffering,  you  will  draw  the 
consciousness  of  your  nothingness,  and  you  will  go 
calmly  and  without  any  indecision  to  the  bastions. 

“ What  do  the  death  and  suffering  of  such  an  insignifi- 
cant worm  as  I mean  in  comparison  with  so  many  deaths 
and  so  much  suffering  ? ” But  the  sight  of  the  clear  sky, 
the  gleaming  sun,  the  beautiful  city,  the  open  church, 
and  the  military  moving  in  various  directions  soon  brings 
your  mind  into  the  normal  condition  of  light-heartedness, 
petty  cares,  and  preoccupation  with  the  present  alone. 

Maybe  you  will  see  emerging  from  the  church  the 
funeral  of  some  officer,  with  a rose-coloured  coffin,  and 
music,  and  unfurled  banners ; maybe  the  sounds  of  firing 
from  the  bastions  reach  your  ear,  but  that  will  not  induce 
your  former  thoughts.  The  funeral  will  appear  to  you  as 
a very  fine  warlike  spectacle,  the  sounds  as  very  fine  war- 
like sounds,  but  you  will  not  connect  with  this  spec- 
tacle, nor  with  these  sounds,  the  clear  idea  of  suffering 
and  death  which  you  have  formed  at  the  point  where  the 
wounds  are  dressed. 

After  passing  the  church  and  the  barricade,  you  will 
enter  into  the  most  animated  part  of  the  city,  living  its 


320 


SEVASTOPOL 


own  inner  life.  On  both  sides  are  the  signs  of  shops 
and  inns.  Tradespeople,  women  in  bonnets  and  ker- 
chiefs, foppish  officers,  — everything  tells  of  the  firmness 
of  spirit,  the  self-confidence,  and  the  security  of  the 
inhabitants. 

Go  into  the  inn  on  the  right,  if  you  wish  to  hear  the 
conversations  of  the  sailors  and  officers  : no  doubt  they 
are  now  telling  of  the  past  night,  of  F4nka,  of  the  action 
of  the  24th,  of  how  expensive  and  bad  the  cutlets 
are  that  they  serve,  and  of  how  this  or  that  companion 
was  killed. 

“ The  deuce  take  it,  but  it’s  bad  with  us  to-day  ! ” says 
a fair- browed,  beardless  naval  officer  in  a green,  hand- 
made scarf. 

“ Where  is  that  ? ” asks  another. 

“ In  the  fourth  bastion/’  answers  the  youthful  officer, 
and  you  are  sure  to  look  with  greater  attention,  and  even 
with  a certain  reverence,  at  the  fair-browed  officer,  as  he 
mentions  the  fourth  bastion.  His  too  great  volubility,  his 
waving  of  hands,  his  loud  laughter  and  voice,  which  had 
struck  you  as  impudent,  now  will  appear  to  you  as  that 
peculiar  dare-devil  mood  which  some  very  young  men 
acquire  after  peril ; still,  you  imagine  that  he  is  going  to 
tell  you  how  bad  it  is  in  the  fourth  bastion  from  the  can- 
non-balls and  bombs : not  at  all ! it  is  bad  because  it  is 
dirty  there. 

“ It  is  impossible  to  walk  over  to  the  battery,”  he 
says,  pointing  at  his  boots,  which  $re  covered  with  mud 
above  the  calf. 

“ My  best  gun-captain  has  been  killed  to-day,  — he 
was  struck  in  the  forehead,”  says  another. 

“ Who  ? Mityukhin  ? No  — Shall  I ever  get  that 
veal  ? Rascals  ! ” he  adds,  turning  to  the  waiter  — 

“ Not  Mityukhin,  but  Abramov.  He  was  a brave  fel- 
low, — he  was  in  six  sorties.” 

At  the  other  corner  of  the  table  two  infantry  officers 


SEVASTOPOL 


321 

are  seated  at  cutlets  and  peas,  with  a bottle  of  sour 
Crimean  wine,  called  “ Bordeaux  : ” one  of  them,  with  a 
red  collar  and  two  stars  on  his  overcoat,  a young  man,  is 
telling  the  other,  with  a black  collar  and  without  stars, 
about  the  action  at  Alma.  The  first  has  imbibed  a little 
freely,  and  from  the  hesitation  in  his  recital,  from  the 
indecision  in  his  glance,  expressive  of  a suspicion  that 
he  is  doubted,  but  especially  from  the  fact  that  be  is 
playing  too  great  a part  in  all  this,  and  that  it  is  all  too 
terrible,  it  is  evident  that  he  is  swerving  greatly  from 
stern  truth. 

But  you  do  not  care  for  these  stories,  which  you  will, 
for  a long  time  to  come,  hear  in  all  the  corners  of  Russia : 
you  want  to  go  at  once  to  the  bastions,  especially  to  the 
fourth,  of  which  you  have  been  told  so  many  different 
tales.  When  somebody  tells  you  that  he  has  been  in  the 
fourth  bastion,  he  announces  the  fact  with  special  delight 
and  pride ; when  some  one  says  that  he  is  going  to 
the  fourth  bastion,  you  will  be  sure  to  notice  a slight  agi- 
tation in  him,  or  too  great  an  indifference ; if  they  wish 
to  tease  somebody,  they  tell  him,  “You  ought  to  be 
stationed  in  the  fourth  bastion  if  you  meet  a litter, 
and  ask,  “ Where  from  ? ” the  answer  is  generally,  “ From 
the  fourth  bastion.”  There  are,  on  the  whole,  two  dis- 
tinct opinions  in  regard  to  this  terrible  bastion  : one,  the 
opinion  of  those  who  have  never  been  there,  and  who  are 
convinced  that  the  fourth  bastion  is  a sure  grave  for  any 
one  who  does  go  there ; the  other,  the  opinion  of  those 
who  live  in  it,  like  that  fair-complexioned  midshipman, 
and  who  will  say  of  the  fourth  bastion,  that  it  is  dry 
or  dirty  there,  warm  or  cold  in  the  earth  huts,  and 
so  forth. 

In  the  half-hour  which  you  have  had  in  the  inn,  the 
weather  has  changed  : the  fog  that  has  been  hanging  over 
the  sea  has  gathered  into  gray,  dull,  damp  clouds,  and  is 
shrouding  the  sun;  a gloomy,  frozen  mist  is  settling 


322 


SEVASTOPOL 


down  and  wetting  the  roofs,  the  sidewalks,  and  the  over- 
coats of  the  soldiers. 

You  pass  another  barricade,  and  through  a door  on  the 
right  walk  up  a broad  street.  Beyond  this  barricade 
the  houses  on  both  sides  of  the  street  are  uninhabited ; 
there  are  no  shop  signs,  the  doors  are  covered  with 
boards,  the  windows  are  broken  ; here  a corner  of  the 
house  is  shattered,  there  a roof  is  pierced.  The  structures 
look  like  old  veterans  who  have  suffered  all  kinds  of  woe 
and  want,  and  seem  to  be  looking  haughtily,  and  even 
somewhat  contemptuously,  at  you.  On  the  road  you 
stumble  on  shells  strewn  about,  and  on  puddles  full 
of  water,  dug  out  by  bombs  in  the  stony  soil.  In  the 
street  you  meet  or  catch  up  with  detachments  of  soldiers, 
Cossack  sharpshooters,  and  officers ; occasionally  you  see 
a woman  or  a child.  The  woman  does  not  wear  a bonnet ; 
she  is  a sailor’s  wife,  in  a fur  jacket  and  soldier  boots. 

Proceeding  along  the  street  and  descending  a small 
hill,  you  observe  all  about  you,  not  houses,  but  certain 
strange  ruin-heaps  of  stones,  boards,  clay,  and  beams; 
in  front  of  you,  on  a steep  hill,  you  see  a black,  dirty 
space,  checkered  by  ditches,  — and  that  is  the  fourth  bas- 
tion. Here  you  find  still  fewer  people ; one  sees  no 
women  at  all ; the  soldiers  walk  rapidly ; along  the  road 
you  may  notice  drops  of  blood,  and  you  are  sure  to  meet 
four  soldiers  with  a litter,  and  on  the  litter  a pale,  sallow 
face,  and  a blood-stained  overcoat.  If  you  ask,  “ Where 
are  you  wounded?”  the  bearers  will  tell  you,  angrily, 
without  turning  toward  you,  “In  the  leg,”  or  “In  the 
arm,”  if  he  is  slightly  wounded ; or  they  will  keep  sullen 
silence,  if  the  head  does  not  appear  on  the  litter,  or  he  is 
dead,  or  severely  wounded. 

The  whizzing  of  a cannon-ball  or  bomb  near  by,  while 
you  are  ascending  the  hill,  gives  you  an  unpleasant  sensa- 
tion. You  suddenly  will  understand,  quite  differently 
from  what  you  understood  before,  the  meaning  of  those 


SEVASTOPOL 


323 


discharges  which  you  had  heard  in  the  city.  Some  joyful 
recollection  will  suddenly  flash  through  your  imagination  ; 
your  own  personality  will  begin  to  interest  you  more  than 
your  observations ; you  will  show  less  attention  to  your 
surroundings,  and  you  will  suddenly  be  seized  by  an  un- 
pleasant sensation  of  indecision.  In  spite  of  this  mean 
little  voice  at  the  sight  of  peril,  which  is  speaking  within 
you,  you,  especially  as  you  glance  at  the  soldier  who, 
waving  his  arms,  and  slipping  down-hill  over  the  liquid 
mud,  runs  toward  you,  laughing,  — you  silence  that  voice, 
involuntarily  straighten  out  your  chest,  lift  your  head 
higher,  and  clamber  up  the  slippery  hill  of  clay. 

You  have  barely  reached  the  summit,  when  on  the 
right  and  left  of  you  rifle-balls  begin  to  whizz,  and  you 
stop  to  reflect  whether  you  had  not  better  walk  in  the 
trench,  which  runs  parallel  to  the  road ; but  the  trench 
is  filled  more  than  knee-deep  with  such  a liquid,  yellow, 
ill-smelling  mud,  that  you  will  certainly  select  the  road 
along  the  brow  of  the  hill,  especially  since  you  see  every- 
body else  walking  in  the  road.  After  passing  two  hun- 
dred steps,  you  come  out  on  a dirty  expanse  which  is  all 
dug  up,  and  which  is  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  gabions, 
earthworks,  casemates,  platforms,  and  dug-outs,  on  which 
stand  large  cast-iron  guns,  and  on  which  cannon-balls  lie 
in  regular  heaps.  Everything  seems  to  be  scattered  about 
without  any  aim,  connection,  or  order.  Here,  in  the  bat- 
tery, sits  a group  of  sailors ; there  in  the  middle  of  the 
space,  half-buried  in  the  mud,  lies  a broken  cannon ; 
there  an  infantry  soldier,  shouldering  his  gun,  crosses 
the  battery,  and  with  difficulty  pulls  his  feet  out  of  the 
sticky  mud.  But  everywhere,  on  all  sides,  and  in  all 
places,  you  see  splinters,  unexploded  bombs,  cannon-balls, 
signs  of  the  camp,  — and  all  that  is  merged  in  the  liquid, 
viscous  mud.  Not  far  from  you,  as  you  imagine,  you 
hear  a cannon-ball  strike ; you  think  you  hear  on  all 
sides  the  various  sounds  of  bullets,  — buzzing  like  a bee, 


324 


SEVASTOPOL 


whistling,  whizzing,  or  whining  like  a string,  — yon  hear 
the  terrible  booming  of  a discharge  which  shakes  you  all 
up,  and  seems  awful  and  terrible  to  you. 

“ So  here  it  is,  the  fourth  bastion  1 Here  is  this  terri- 
ble, truly  awful  place ! ” you  think,  experiencing  a slight 
sensation  of  pride  and  a mighty  sensation  of  suppressed 
terror.  But  you  must  be  undeceived  ; this  is  not  yet  the 
fourth  bastion.  This  is  the  Yazonov  redoubt,  — a com- 
paratively secure,  and  not  at  all  terrible  place.  In  order 
to  reach  the  fourth  bastion,  turn  to  the  right,  along  this  nar- 
row trench,  along  which  a foot-soldier  is  moving  with  bent 
body.  Along  this  trench  you  will,  perhaps,  again  meet 
stretchers,  a sailor,  soldiers  with  spades ; you  will  see 
miners,  and  dug-outs  in  the  mud,  into  which  two  men 
can  creep  by  bending ; and  you  will  see  there  the  sharp- 
shooters of  the  Black  Sea  battalions,  who  change  their 
boots,  eat,  smoke  their  pipes,  and  live  in  there ; and  you 
will  see  again  the  same  stinking  mud  all  around  you,  the 
traces  of  an  encampment,  and  abandoned  cast  iron  of  every 
possible  shape. 

By  walking  another  three  hundred  steps,  you  again 
come  out  to  a battery, — to  a small  square  cut  up  by 
ditches,  and  surrounded  by  gabions  filled  with  dirt,  guns 
on  platforms,  and  earth  ramparts.  Here  you  will,  prob- 
ably, see  some  five  sailors,  playing  cards  under  the  breast- 
work, and  a naval  officer,  who,  noticing  that  you  are  a 
newcomer,  and  curious,  will  gladly  show  you  everything 
under  his  charge  which  might  interest  you.  This  officer 
so  calmly  rolls  up  a cigarette  with  yellow  paper,  while 
seated  on  a gun,  so  calmly  passes  from  one  embrasure  to 
another,  so  calmly  speaks  with  you,  without  the  least 
affectation,  that,  in  spite  of  the  bullets,  which  whizz 
above  you  oftener  than  before,  you  yourself  become  cool, 
and  attentively  question  the  officer  and  listen  to  his  story. 

This  officer  will  tell  you  — but  only  if  you  question 
him  about  it  — of  the  bombardment  of  the  5th:  he 


SEVASTOPOL 


325 


will  tell  you  how  only  one  gun  of  his  battery  could  be 
put  in  action,  and  how  of  all  the  attendants  only  eight 
men  were  left,  and  how,  nevertheless,  on  the  following  6th, 
he  fired  off  all  his  guns ; he  will  tell  you  how  on  the  5th 
a cannon-ball  entered  an  earth  hut  of  the  sailors,  and  laid 
low  eleven  men  ; he  will  show  you  through  the  embra- 
sure the  batteries  and  trenches  of  the  enemy,  which  are 
here  not  more  than  from  two  hundred  to  two  hundred  and 
fifty  feet  distant.  I am,  however,  afraid  that  under  the 
influence  of  the  buzzing  bullets,  you,  leaning  out  of  the 
embrasure,  in  order  to  catch  a glimpse  of  the  enemy,  will 
see  nothing,  or,  if  you  do  see,  you  will  be  very  much  sur- 
prised to  find  that  this  white  rocky  rampart,  which  is  so 
near  to  you,  and  where  now  and  then  burst  white  cloud- 
lets of  smoke,  — that  this  white  rampart  is  the  enemy,  — 
he,  as  the  soldiers  and  sailors  say. 

It  is  even  quite  possible  that  the  naval  officer,  from 
vanity,  or  simply  to  afford  himself  an  amusement,  will 
want  to  do  a little  firing  in  your  presence.  “ Send  the 
gun-captain  and  the  crew  up  to  the  gun  ! ” and  about 
fourteen  sailors,  putting  their  pipes  into  their  pockets, 
or  hurriedly  munching  their  hardtack,  will  briskly  and 
gaily  walk  up  to  the  gun,  clattering  with  their  spiked 
boots  on  the  platform,  and  load  it.  Look  closely  at  the 
faces,  the  whole  form,  and  the  movements  of  these  men : 
in  every  wrinkle  of  their  sunburnt,  broad-cheeked  faces, 
in  every  muscle,  in  the  breadth  of  their  shoulders,  in  the 
stoutness  of  their  legs,  clad  in  huge  boots,  in  every  motion 
— calm,  firm,  deliberate  — are  seen  the  chief  characteris- 
tics of  Eussian  strength,  simplicity  and  tenacity  ; but  here, 
you  imagine  that  the  peril,  the  wretchedness,  and  the 
sufferings  of  war  have  imprinted  on  every  face,  in  addi- 
tion to  these  chief  traits,  the  consciousness  of  their  own 
worth,  and  of  elevated  thought  and  feeling. 

Suddenly  a frightful  roar,  which  shakes  not  only  your 
aural  organs,  but  your  whole  being  as  well,  startles  you 


326 


SEVASTOPOL 


so  that  your  whole  body  quivers.  Thereupon  you  hear 
the  retreating  whistle  of  the  projectile,  and  a dense 
powder  smoke  envelops  you,  the  platform,  and  the  black 
figures  of  the  sailors  moving  upon  it.  About  this  shot  of 
ours  you  will  hear  various  comments  by  the  sailors,  and 
you  will  observe  their  animation,  and  the  manifestation 
of  a feeling  which,  perhaps,  you  had  not  expected  to  see, 
— the  feeling  of  malice,  of  revenging  themselves  on  the 
enemy,  which  is  concealed  in  every  breast. 

“ Struck  right  into  the  embrasure ; I think  it  has  killed 
two  — there  they  are  carrying  them,”  are  the  joyful  ex- 
clamations you  hear.  “ Now,  he  is  getting  mad ; he  will 
let  her  go  in  a minute,”  somebody  remarks,  and,  indeed, 
soon  after  you  see  a flash  and  smoke  in  front  of  you. 
The  sentry  on  the  breastwork  cries,  “ Can-non  ! ” Imme- 
diately after  a cannon-ball  whines  past  you,  splashes 
against  the  ground,  and  scatters  a funnel-shaped  mass  of 
debris  and  stones  about  you.  The  commander  of  the 
battery  is  angry  at  this  ball,  and  orders  them  to  load  a 
second  and  third  gun ; the  enemy  keeps  returning  the 
fire,  and  you  experience  interesting  sensations,  and  hear 
and  see  interesting  things. 

The  sentry  again  shouts  “ Cannon ! ” and  you  hear  the 
same  sound  and  thud,  and  see  the  same  debris ; or  he 
calls  out  “ Mortar ! ” and  you  hear  the  even,  fairly  agree- 
able whistling  of  a bomb,  with  which  you  find  it  hard  to 
connect  the  idea  of  something  terrible ; you  hear  this 
whistling  coming  nearer  and  growing  faster;  then  you 
see  a black  ball,  feel  a palpable  blow  against  the  ground, 
and  hear  the  ringing  explosion  of  the  bomb.  Then  the 
splinters  fly  through  the  air  whistling  and  whining; 
stones  rustle  in  the  air,  and  you  are  bespattered  with 
mud.  At  these  sounds  you  experience  a strange  sensa- 
tion of  pleasure,  and  at  the  same  time  of  fear.  During 
the  moment  when  you  are  conscious  of  the  projectile’s 
flight  above  your  head,  you  cannot  help  thinking  that  it 


SEVASTOPOL 


327 


will  kill  you ; but  a feeling  of  vanity  sustains  you,  and 
nobody  notices  the  knife  that  is  cutting  your  heart.  But 
when  the  projectile  has  passed  by  you,  without  doing  you 
any  harm,  you  revive,  and  you  are  seized,  though  only 
for  an  instant,  by  a blissful,  inexpressibly  pleasant  sen- 
sation, so  that  you  find  a special  charm  in  danger,  in  this 
game  of  life  and  death ; you  want  the  balls  or  bombs  to 
fall  closer  and  closer  to  you. 

But  the  sentry  shouts  again,  in  his  loud,  thick  voice, 
“ Mortar ! ” and  again  there  is  a whistle,  a blow,  and  an 
explosion  of  a bomb ; but  at  the  very  moment  of  this 
sound  you  are  startled  by  the  groan  of  a man.  You 
reach  the  wounded  man,  who,  blood-stained  and  bespat- 
tered with  mud,  has  a strange  inhuman  aspect,  at  the 
same  time  as  the  stretcher.  A part  of  the  sailor’s  chest 
has  been  torn  out.  In  the  first  few  minutes  you  see  on 
his  mud-covered  face  nothing  but  terror  and  a feigned, 
premature  expression  of  suffering,  peculiar  to  a man 
in  this  condition ; but  when  the  stretcher  is  brought 
and  the  wounded  man  is  placed  there  on  his  sound  side, 
you  observe  that  this  expression  is  exchanged  for  one  of 
ecstasy  and  of  an  exalted,  unexpressed  thought ; his  eyes 
burn  more  brightly,  his  teeth  are  set,  his  head  raises  itself 
with  difficulty,  and,  while  he  is  being  lifted  up,  he  halts 
the  stretcher,  and  with  effort,  and  in  a trembling  voice, 
says  to  his  companions,  “ Forgive  me,  brothers!”  He 
wants  to  say  something  else,  and  it  is  evident  that 
he  wants  to  say  something  touching,  but  he  only  repeats 
“ Forgive  me,  brothers  ! ” Just  then  a fellow  sailor  walks 
over  to  him,  puts  his  cap  on  his  head,  which  the  wounded 
man  holds  up  for  the  purpose,  and  calmly,  with  equanim- 
ity, waving  his  arms,  returns  to  his  gun. 

“ Seven  or  eight  men  a day  are  taken  off  that  way,”  the 
naval  officer  informs  you,  in  response  to  the  expression  of 
terror  on  your  face,  yawning  and  rolling  his  cigarette 
of  yellow  paper. 


328 


SEVASTOPOL 


And  so  you  have  seen  the  defenders  of  Sevastopol  in 
the  very  place  of  the  defence,  and  you  walk  back,  for 
some  reason  paying  no  attention  to  the  balls  and  bullets 
which  continue  to  whistle  until  you  reach  the  ruins  of  the 
theatre,  — you  walk  in  a quiet,  exalted  mood.  The  main 
and  consoling  conviction  which  you  have  carried  away  is 
that  it  is  impossible  to  break  the  strength  of  the  Russian 
people,  — and  this  impossibility  you  have  seen,  not  in  the 
mass  of  traverses,  breastworks,  cunningly  intertwined 
trenches,  mines,  and  ordnance  piled  upon  each  other,  of 
which  you  did  not  understand  a thing,  but  in  the  eyes, 
speeches,  and  manner,  in  what  is  called  the  spirit,  of  the 
defenders  of  Sevastopol.  What  they  are  doing,  they  do 
so  simply,  with  so  little  effort,  and  with  such  intensity, 
that  you  are  persuaded  that  they  are  able  to  do  a hun- 
dred things  more  — they  can  do  anything. 

You  comprehend  that  the  feeling  which  makes  them 
work  is  not  that  feeling  of  paltriness,  vanity,  oblivious- 
ness, such  as  you  have  experienced  yourself,  but  another, 
more  powerful  sentiment  which  has  made  of  them  men 
who  live  calmly  under  cannon-balls,  surrounded  by  hun- 
dreds of  accidents  of  death,  instead  of  the  one  death  to 
which  all  men  are  subject,  and  who  live  under  these  con- 
ditions amidst  uninterrupted  labour,  vigilance,  and  mud. 
People  cannot  assume  these  terrible  conditions  for  the 
sake  of  a cross,  a name,  or  a threat ; there  must  be  an- 
other, higher  impelling  cause.  This  cause  is  a feeling 
which  rarely  comes  to  the  surface  and  is  kept  in  bashful 
abeyance  in  a Russian,  but  which  is  in  the  depth  of  every 
soul,  — the  love  of  his  country.  Only  now  the  stories 
about  the  first  siege  of  Sevastopol,  when  there  were 
no  fortifications  in  it,  no  armies,  no  physical  possibility 
of  retaining  it,  and  yet  when  there  was  not  the  slightest 
doubt  that  it  would  not  surrender  to  the  enemy,  — about 
the  times  when  that  hero,  worthy  of  ancient  Greece,  Kor- 
nildv,  driving  through  the  army,  said,  “ We  will  die,  boys, 


SEVASTOPOL 


329 


but  will  not  surrender  Sevastopol,1 ” and  our  Russians, 
incapable  of  expressing  themselves  glibly,  answered,  “ We 
will  die,  hurrah ! ” — only  now  the  stories  about  these 
times  have  ceased  for  you  to  be  a beautiful  historical  tra- 
dition, but  have  become  a certainty,  a fact.  You  can 
easily  comprehend  and  imagine  to  yourselves  the  people 
whom  you  have  just  seen  as  those  heroes,  who  in  those 
troublous  times  did  not  fall,  but  rise  in  spirit,  and  with 
delight  prepared  themselves  to  die,  not  for  the  city,  but 
for  their  country.  This  epic  of  Sevastopol,  of  which  the 
Russian  nation  was  the  hero,  will  long  leave  grand  traces 
in  Russia. 

It  is  growing  toward  evening.  The  sun,  before  setting, 
has  emerged  from  the  gray  clouds  which  veil  the  sky, 
and  suddenly  has  illuminated  with  its  crimson  light  the 
violet  clouds,  the  greenish  sea  that  is  covered  with  ships 
and  boats  and  that  is  agitated  in  an  even,  broad  swell, 
and  the  white  structures  of  the  city,  and  the  people  mov- 
ing about  in  its  streets.  Over  the  water  are  borne  the 
sounds  of  some  antiquated  waltz,  which  the  regimental 
band  is  playing  in  the  boulevard,  and  the  sounds  of  volleys 
from  the  bastions,  which  strangely  echo  them. 

Sevastopol , April  25 , 1855 . 


IN  MAY,  1855 


I. 

Six  months  have  passed  since  the  time  when  the  first 
cannon-ball  whistled  from  the  bastions  of  Sevastopol  and 
tore  up  the  earth  in  the  works  of  the  enemy,  and  since 
then  thousands  of  bombs,  balls,  and  bullets  have  been 
flying  incessantly  from  the  bastions  into  the  trenches, 
and  from  the  trenches  into  the  bastions,  and  the  angel  of 
death  has  not  ceased  hovering  over  them. 

Thousands  of  human  ambitions  have  been  slighted, 
thousands  have  been  satisfied,  or  puffed  up,  and  thousands 
have  been  put  to  rest  in  the  embraces  of  death.  What  a 
mass  of  rose-coloured  coffins  and  linen  shrouds  ! But  still 
the  same  sounds  are  heard  from  the  bastions ; with  the 
same  involuntary  trepidation  and  terror  the  French  are 
looking  on  a clear  day  from  their  encampment  on  the 
yellowish,  furrowed  earth  of  the  bastions  of  Sevastopol,  on 
the  black  figures  of  our  sailors  moving  on  them,  and  count- 
ing the  embrasures  from  which  threateningly  protrude 
our  iron  guns.  Just  so  the  master's  mate  in  the  telegraph 
tower  surveys  through  the  glasses  the  motley  forms  of 
the  French,  their  batteries,  tents,  columns,  moving  about 
on  the  green  hill,  and  the  puffs  of  smoke  that  flash  in  the 
trenches ; and  with  the  same  eagerness  heterogeneous 
masses  of  men  from  all  the  corners  of  the  world,  with 
still  more  heterogeneous  desires,  are  streaming  into  this 
fateful  spot.  And  the  question,  still  undecided  by  diplo- 
macy, has  not  yet  been  solved  by  powder  and  blood. 

331 


II 


In  the  besieged  city  of  Sevastopol,  the  regimental  band 
was  playing  in  the  boulevard,  near  the  pavilion,  and 
throngs  of  the  military  and  of  women  were  strolling 
leisurely  through  its  avenues.  The  bright  vernal  sun  had 
risen  in  the  morning  above  the  works  of  the  English, 
had  passed  over  to  the  bastions,  thence  to  the  city,  to  the 
Nicholas  barracks,  and,  shining  with  equal  cheer  upon  all, 
was  now  sinking  toward  the  blue,  distant  sea,  which 
swayed  in  even  motion  and  was  resplendent  with  a silvery 
sheen. 

A tall  infantry  officer,  with  rather  stooping  shoulders, 
who  was  drawing  on  his  hand  a clean,  though  not  very 
white,  glove,  came  out  of  the  gate  in  front  of  a small  sailor 
cottage,  built  on  the  left  side  of  Ocean  Street,  and,  looking 
pensively  at  his  feet,  ascended  the  street  toward  the 
boulevard. 

The  expression  of  this  officer’s  homely  countenance  did 
not  betray  any  great  mental  powers,  but  simple-mindedness, 
thoughtfulness,  honesty,  and  a tendency  to  sobriety.  He 
was  badly  built,  not  very  agile,  and  apparently  timid  in 
his  movements.  He  was  dressed  in  a little  worn  cap,  a 
light  overcoat  of  a rather  peculiar  lilac  shade,  behind  the 
edge  of  which  could  be  seen  a gold  watch-chain,  pantaloons 
with  foot-straps,  and  clean,  well-polished  calfskin  boots. 
He  might  have  been  a German,  if  the  features  of  his  face 
had  not  indicated  his  pure  Russian  origin,  or  an  adjutant, 
or  a regimental  quartermaster  (but  then  he  would  have 
had  spurs),  or  an  officer  who  for  the  period  of  the  cam- 

332 


SEVASTOPOL 


333 


paign  had  left  the  cavalry  or,  perhaps,  the  Guards.  He 
was,  in  reality,  a former  cavalry  officer,  and  at  the  present 
moment,  as  he  was  walking  up  toward  the  boulevard, 
he  was  thinking  of  a letter  which  he  had  received  from 
his  former  comrade,  now  out  of  service  and  a landed 

proprietor  in  the  Government  of  T , and  from  his  wife, 

pale,  blue-eyed  Natasha,  his  great  friend.  He  recalled 
one  passage  in  that  letter,  in  which  his  comrade  said : 

“ When  the  Invalid  is  brought  to  us,  Pupka  (thus  the 
ex-uhlan  called  his  wife)  rushes  headlong  into  the  ante- 
chamber, seizes  the  gazette,  runs  with  it  to  the  bay  window 
in  the  arbour , or  into  the  drawing-room  (in  which,  as  you 
will  remember,  we  have  passed  such  delightful  winter 
evenings,  when  the  regiment  was  stationed  in  our  city), 
and  reads  the  heroic  deeds  of  you  soldiers  with  such  zeal 
as  you  can  hardly  imagine.  She  frequently  says  of  you : 
‘Now,  Mikhaylov/  says  she,  ‘is  a dear.  I am  ready  to 
kiss  him  when  I see  him.  He  is  fighting  in  the  bastions , 
and  will  certainly  get  the  Cross  of  St.  George,  and  they 
will  write  about  him  in  the  papers  — ’ and  so  forth,  so 
that  I am  beginning  in  all  earnestness  to  be  jealous  of 
you.” 

In  another  passage  he  said : 

“ The  gazettes  reach  us  dreadfully  late,  and  though 
there  is  a lot  of  oral  news,  you  can’t  believe  it  all.  For 
example,  the  young  ladies  with  music,  whom  you  know, 
were  saying  yesterday  that  Napoleon  had  been  captured 
by  our  Cossacks,  and  sent  to  St.  Petersburg ; but  you  can 
imagine  how  little  I believe  this.  We  were  told  by  a 
gentleman  who  has  arrived  from  St.  Petersburg  (he  has 
a place  on  special  affairs  at  a minister’s,  a charming 
fellow,  and  now  that  there  is  no  one  in  town,  he  is  the 
greatest  imaginable  resource  to  us)  so  he  assures  us  that 
our  men  have  occupied  Eupatoria,  so  that  the  French 
have  no  longer  any  communication  with  Balaklava,  and 
that  we  had  two  hundred  soldiers  killed  in  this  action, 


334 


SEVASTOPOL 


while  the  French  lost  fifteen  thousand.  My  wife  was 
so  elated  at  this,  that  she  caroused  all  night,  and  she  says 
that  her  heart  tells  her  that  you  have  certainly  taken 
part  in  this  action,  and  have  distinguished  yourself.” 

In  spite  of  the  words  and  expressions  which  I have 
purposely  given  in  italics,  and  of  the  whole  tone  of  the 
letter,  Staff-Captain  Mikhaylov  recalled,  with  inexpress- 
ibly melancholy  pleasure,  his  pale  friend  in  the  prov- 
ince, and  how  he  used  to  sit  with  her  in  the  arbour  in 
the  evenings,  and  talk  about  sentiments ; he  recalled  his 
good  comrade,  the  uhlan,  and  how  he  would  get  angry 
and  lose,  when  they  played  in  the  study  at  kopek-stakes, 
and  how  his  wife  would  laugh  at  him ; he  thought  of 
the  friendship  of  these  people  for  himself  (maybe,  he 
thought,  there  was  something  more  than  friendship 
on  the  side  of  his  pale  friend)  : these  people  with  their 
surroundings  flashed  through  his  imagination  in  a remark- 
ably soothing,  blissfully  rose-coloured  light,  and,  smiling 
at  his  reminiscences,  he  placed  his  hand  on  the  pocket 
where  lay  the  letter  which  was  so  dear  to  him. 

From  the  reminiscences  Staff-Captain  Mikhaylov  in- 
voluntarily passed  to  dreams  and  hopes.  “ What  will 
be  Natasha’s  surprise  and  joy,”  he  thought,  striding 
through  a narrow  side  street,  “ when  she  suddenly  reads 
in  the  Invalid  how  I was  the  first  to  climb  on  a cannon, 
and  received  the  Cross  of  St.  George ! The  captaincy 
I am  to  receive  anyway,  having  been  recommended  for 
it  long  ago.  Then  I may  easily  get  the  grade  of  major 
by  seniority  this  very  year,  because  many  of  my  fellow 
officers  have  been  killed  in  this  campaign,  and  many 
more,  no  doubt,  will  be.  And  then  there  will  be  another 
engagement,  and  I,  as  a well-known  man,  will  be  en- 
trusted with  a regiment  — lieutenant-colonel  — the  Anna 
decoration  on  my  neck  — colonel  — ” and  he  was  already 
a general,  honouring  with  his  visit  Natasha,  the  widow  of 
his  comrade,  who,  according  to  his  dreams,  would  be  dead 


SEVASTOPOL 


335 


by  that  time,  — when  the  sounds  of  the  boulevard  music 
reached  his  ears  more  distinctly,  the  throngs  of  people 
burst  upon  his  vision,  and  he  found  himself  in  the  boule- 
vard, a staff-captain  as  before. 


III. 


He  went,  at  first,  to  the  pavilion,  near  which  stood 
the  musicians,  for  whom  other  soldiers  of  the  regiment 
acted  as  stands  and  held  the  open  music,  and  near  whom 
scribes,  yunkers,  and  nurses  with  their  children  formed 
a circle,  rather  looking  on  than  listening.  About  the 
pavilion  stood,  sat,  and  walked  chiefly  sailors,  adjutants, 
and  officers  in  white  gloves.  On  the  broad  avenue  of 
the  boulevard  walked  all  sorts  of  officers  and  all  sorts 
of  women,  now  and  then  in  bonnets,  but  more  often  in 
kerchiefs  (there  were  also  some  without  kerchiefs  or 
bonnets) ; there  was  not  an  old  woman  among  them, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  all  were  young.  Farther  below, 
in  the  fragrant,  shady  avenues  of  white  acacias,  walked  or 
sat  separate  groups. 

No  one  on  the  boulevard  was  especially  delighted 
to  meet  Captain  Mikhaylov,  except,  perhaps,  Captain 
Obzhogov  and  Captain  Suslikov  of  his  own  regiment, 
who  fervently  pressed  his  hand ; but  the  former  wore 
camel’s-hair  trousers,  no  gloves,  a threadbare  overcoat,  and 
had  a sweaty  face,  and  the  latter  shouted  so  loudly  and 
carelessly,  that  it  was  annoying  to  walk  with  them,  espe- 
cially in  the  presence  of  the  officers  with  the  white 
gloves  (to  one  of  whom,  an  adjutant,  Staff-Captain  Mi- 
khaylov bowed,  and  to  another,  an  officer  of  the  staff,  he 
could  have  bowed,  because  he  had  met  him  twice  in  the 
house  of  a common  acquaintance).  Besides,  what  pleasure 
was  it  to  him  to  walk  with  Messrs.  Obzhdgov  and  Sus- 
likoVj  since  he  met  them  without  this  about  six  times 

336 


SEVASTOPOL 


337 


a day,  and  each  time  pressed  their  hands  ? It  was  not 
for  this  that  he  had  come  to  the  music. 

It  would  give  him  pleasure  to  walk  up  to  the  adjutant, 
with  whom  he  exchanged  greetings,  and  to  talk  with 
him  and  his  company,  not  that  Captains  Obzhogov  and 
Suslikov  and  Lieutenant  Pasht^tski  might  see  that  he 
was  speaking  with  them,  but  simply  because  they  were 
pleasant  people,  and  besides  knew  all  the  news,  and 
would  tell  it  to  him. 

But  why  was  Staff-Captain  Mikhaylov  afraid  to  walk 
over  to  them  ? “ What  if  they  suddenly  should  not 

bow  to  me/’  he  thought,  “ or  if  they  should  bow  and  con- 
tinue speaking  among  themselves,  as  if  I were  not  pres- 
ent, or  should  walk  entirely  away  from  me,  and  I should 
remain  all  alone  among  the  aristocrats  ? ” The  word 
aristocrats  (in  the  sense  of  a higher,  select  circle,  in 
whatsoever  condition  in  life)  has  of  late  acquired  with 
us,  in  Russia,  where,  it  seems,  it  ought  never  to  exist, 
great  popularity,  and  has  penetrated  into  every  part  of 
the  country  and  into  every  stratum  of  society  whither 
vanity  has  penetrated  (and  into  what  conditions  of  time 
and  circumstance  does  this  wretched  inclination  not  pene- 
trate ?) : among  merchants,  among  officials,  scribes,  and 
officers,  into  Saratov,  into  Mamadyshi,  into  Vmnitsy, 
everywhere  where  people  live.  And  since  there  were 
many  people  in  Sevastopol,  consequently  there  was  also 
much  vanity,  that  is,  there  were  many  aristocrats , in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  at  any  moment  death  was  hanging 
over  the  head  of  every  aristocrat  and  of  every  plebeian. 

To  Captain  Obzhogov,  Staff-Captain  Mikhaylov  was  an 
aristocrat;  to  Staff-Captain  Mikhaylov,  Adjutant  Kalugin 
was  an  aristocrat , because  he  was  an  adjutant  and  on 
“ thou  ” terms  with  another  adjutant.  To  Adjutant  Ka- 
lugin, Count  Nordov  was  an  aristocrat , because  he  was 
an  aid-de-camp. 

Vanity,  vanity,  and  vanity  everywhere,  even  on  tho 


338 


SEVASTOPOL 


brink  of  the  grave,  and  among  people  ready  to  die  from 
deep  conviction.  Vanity ! It  must  be  a characteristic 
trait  and  peculiar  disease  of  our  century.  Why  was 
nothing  heard  of  this  passion  among  men  of  former  days, 
as  one  hears  of  the  smallpox  and  of  the  cholera  ? Why 
are  there  only  three  kinds  of  people  in  our  age : those 
who  accept  the  principle  of  vanity  as  a necessary,  con- 
sequently as  a just,  fact,  and  who  freely  submit  to  it; 
those  who  accept  it  as  an  unfortunate,  but  insurmount- 
able, condition ; and  those,  again,  who  act  unconsciously 
and  servilely  under  its  influence  ? Why  did  Homer  and 
Shakespeare  speak  of  love,  of  glory,  of  suffering,  while 
the  literature  of  our  age  is  only  an  endless  story  of 
snobs  and  vanity  ? 

The  staff-captain  walked  twice  in  indecision  past  the 
circle  of  his  aristocrats ; the  third  time  he  made  an  effort 
over  himself,  and  went  up  to  them.  This  circle  was  com- 
posed of  four  officers : of  Adjutant  Kalugin,  Mikhaylov’s 
acquaintance,  of  Adjutant  Prince  Galtsin,  who  really  was 
something  of  an  aristocrat  as  compared  with  Kalugin,  of 
Colonel  Nef^rdov,  one  of  the  so-called  122  society  men 
(who  had  entered  the  service  for  this  campaign  from  the 
retired  list),  and  of  Captain  of  Horse  Praskukhin,  also  one 
of  those  122.  Fortunately  for  Mikhaylov,  Kalugin  was 
in  an  excellent  frame  of  mind  (the  general  had  just  had 
a very  confidential  talk  with  him,  and  Prince  Galtsin, 
who  had  arrived  from  St.  Petersburg,  was  stopping  with 
him) ; he  did  not  regard  it  as  beneath  his  dignity  to  ex- 
tend his  hand  to  Staff-Captain  Mikhaylov,  a thing  which, 
however,  Praskukhin  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  do, 
although  he  had  frequently  met  Mikhaylov  in  the  bastion, 
had  again  and  again  drunk  his  wine  and  brandy,  and  even 
owed  him  twelve  roubles  and  a half  at  cards.  As  he  did 
not  yet  know  Prince  Galtsin  very  intimately,  he  did  not 
wish  to  betray  to  him  his  acquaintance  with  a simple 
vStaff- captain  of  the  infantry.  He  bowed  slightly  to  him. 


SEVASTOPOL 


339 


“ Well,  captain,”  said  Kalugin,  “ when  shall  we  go 
again  to  the  little  bastion  ? Do  you  remember  how  we 
met  on  the  Schwartz  redoubt  ? It  was  hot  there,  wasn't 
it?” 

“ Yes,  it  was,”  said  Mikhaylov,  recalling  how  on  that 
night,  as  he  was  making  his  way  along  the  trench  up  to 
the  bastion,  he  had  met  Kalugin,  who  was  walking  along 
in  a dashing  manner,  briskly  clanking  his  sabre. 

“ By  rights,  I ought  to  go  there  to-morrow ; but  we 
have  a sick  man,”  continued  Mikhaylov,  “ an  officer,  and 
so  — ” 

He  was  on  the  point  of  telling  that  it  was  not  his  turn, 
but  that  the  commander  of  the  eighth  company  was  ill, 
and  that,  as  there  was  but  the  ensign  left  in  the  company, 
he  had  considered  it  his  duty  to  propose  himself  in  place 
of  Lieutenant  Nepshis^tski,  and  that  therefore  he  was 
going  to  the  bastion  to-day.  Kalugin  was  not  listening 
to  him. 

“ I feel  that  something  will  happen  soon,”  said  he  to 
Prince  Galtsin. 

“ And  won’t  anything  happen  to-day  ? ” timidly  asked 
Mikhaylov,  glancing  now  at  Kalugin,  and  now  at  Galtsin. 

Nobody  replied.  Prince  Galtsin  only  frowned,  stared 
past  his  cap,  and,  after  a moment’s  silence,  asked : 

“ She  is  a fine  girl,  the  one  in  the  red  kerchief.  Do 
you  not  know  her,  captain  ? ” 

“ She  lives  near  my  quarters,  and  is  a sailor’s  daughter,” 
replied  the  staff-captain. 

“ Come,  let  us  get  a good  look  at  her  ! ” 

Prince  Galtsin  took,  on  one  side,  Kalugin’s  arm,  and  on 
the  other,  the  staff -captain’s,  being  convinced  in  advance 
that  this  must  necessarily  afford  great  pleasure  to  the 
latter,  which,  indeed,  was  true  enough. 

The  staff-captain  was  superstitious,  and  regarded  it  as 
a great  sin  to  busy  himself  with  women  before  an  action  ; 
but  on  this  occasion  he  feigned  to  be  a libertine,  which 


340 


SEVASTOPOL 


Prince  Galtsin  and  Kalugin  obviously  did  not  believe, 
and  which  extremely  surprised  the  maiden  in  the  red 
kerchief,  who  had  noticed  more  than  once  that  the  cap- 
tain blushed  whenever  he  passed  by  her  window.  Pras- 
kukhin followed  them  from  behind  and  kept  nudging  the 
arm  of  Prince  Galtsin,  making  all  kinds  of  remarks  in 
French.  As  it  was  not  possible  for  four  persons  to  walk 
abreast  on  the  narrow  path,  he  was  compelled  to  walk  by 
himself ; only,  when  making  the  second  circuit,  he  linked 
his  arm  with  a well-known,  brave  naval  officer,  Servyagin, 
who  had  come  up  to  speak  with  him,  and  who  was  also  anx- 
ious to  join  the  circle  of  the  aristocrats.  The  famous  hero 
was  delighted  to  put  his  muscular,  honest  hand  through 
the  arm  of  Praskukhin,  who  was  known  to  everybody, 
and  to  Servyagin  himself,  as  a not  very  decent  kind  of 
man.  When  Praskukhin,  explaining  to  Prince  Galtsin 
his  acquaintance  with  that  sailor,  whispered  to  him  that 
he  was  a famous  hero,  Prince  Galtsin,  who  had  been  in 
the  fourth  bastion  the  day  before  and  had  seen  a bomb 
explode  within  twenty  paces  of  him,  did  not  pay  the 
least  attention  to  Servyagin,  on  the  ground  that  he  him- 
self was  a not  less  brave  fellow  than  that  gentleman,  and 
because  he  surmised  that  very  many  reputations  were  not 
merited. 

It  gave  Staff -Captain  Mikhaylov  such  pleasure  to  prom- 
enade in  this  company,  that  he  forgot  his  dear  letter  from 

T , and  the  gloomy  thoughts  that  had  assailed  him 

before  his  departure  to  the  bastion.  He  stayed  with  them 
until  they  began  to  converse  exclusively  among  themselves, 
and  evade  his  glances,  by  which  they  meant  to  let  him 
know  that  he  could  leave ; finally  they  walked  altogether 
away  from  him.  But  the  staff-captain  was,  nevertheless, 
contented,  and,  when  he  passed  by  Yunker  Baron  Pest, 
who  had  been  uncommonly  proud  and  self-confident  ever 
since  the  previous  night,  when  he  had  for  the  first  time 
passed  a night  in  the  blindage  of  the  fifth  bastion,  and 


SEVASTOPOL 


341 


who,  in  consequence  of  this,  regarded  himself  as  a hero, 
he  was  not  in  the  least  mortified  by  the  suspiciously 
supercilious  expression  with  which  the  yunker  straight- 
ened himself  out  and  took  off  his  cap  to  him. 


IV. 


No  sooner  had  the  staff-captain  crossed  the  threshold 
of  his  lodgings,  than  entirely  different  thoughts  entered 
his  mind.  He  saw  his  small  room,  with  its  uneven  earth 
floor  and  crooked  windows  pasted  over  with  paper,  his 
old  bed,  with  a rug  nailed  to  the  wall  above  it,  on  which 
an  amazon  was  represented,  and  where  two  Tula  pistols 
were  hanging,  and  the  dirty  bed,  with  the  chintz  coverlet, 
of  the  yunker  who  was  living  with  him ; he  saw  his 
Nikita,  with  dishevelled,  greasy  hair,  who,  scratching  him- 
self, rose  from  the  floor;  he  saw  his  old  overcoat,  his 
boots,  and  a bundle,  from  which  protruded  the  point  of 
a cheese  and  the  neck  of  a wine  bottle  filled  with  brandy, 
gotten  ready  for  him  for  the  bastion,  — and  he  suddenly 
recalled  that  he  was  to  pass  the  whole  night  with  his 
company  in  the  lodgments. 

“ I shall  certainly  be  killed  to-night,”  thought  the 
staff-captain,  “ I feel  it.  The  main  thing  is  that  it  was 
not  my  turn  to  go,  and  I offered  myself.  It  is  always 
the  man  who  obtrudes  who  is  killed.  And  what  is  it 
that  ails  that  accursed  Nepshis&ski  ? It  is  very  likely 
he  is  not  ill  at  all,  and  here  another  man  will  be  killed  in 
his  place,  he  certainly  will  be.  However,  if  I am  not 
killed,  I shall  by  all  means  be  recommended  for  promo- 
tion. I noticed  how  the  commander  of  the  regiment  was 
pleased  when  he  heard  me  say : ‘ Permit  me  to  go,  if 
Lieutenant  Nepshis&ski  is  ill/  If  it  does  not  bring  me 
a majorship,  I cannot  fail  getting  a Cross  of  St.  Vladimir. 

“ This  is  the  thirteenth  time  I have  gone  to  the  bastion. 
Oh,  thirteen  is  a bad  number.  I am  sure  I shall  be 

342 


SEVASTOPOL 


343 


billed,  I feel  I shall  be ! but  somebody  had  to  go,  and  the 
company  could  not  be  sent  out  with  the  ensign.  If  some- 
thing happened,  the  honour  of  the  regiment,  the  honour 
of  the  army,  would  be  involved.  It  was  my  duty  to  go  — 
yes,  my  sacred  duty.  Still,  I have  a presentiment.” 

The  staff-captain  forgot  that  a similar  presentiment, 
in  a greater  or  lesser  degree,  had  assailed  him  before 
when  he  had  to  go  to  the  bastion,  and  he  did  not  know 
that  the  same  more  or  less  strong  presentiment  was 
experienced  by  everybody  who  went  into  action.  After 
having  calmed  himself  with  the  conception  of  duty,  which 
was  especially  developed  and  strong  in  the  staff-captain, 
he  sat  down  at  the  table,  and  began  to  write  his  farewell 
letter  to  his  father.  Ten  minutes  later,  after  he  had 
written  the  letter,  he  rose  from  the  table,  with  eyes  wet 
with  tears,  and,  saying  mentally  all  the  prayers  which  he 
knew,  he  began  to  dress  himself.  His  tipsy,  coarse  serv- 
ant lazily  handed  him  his  new  coat  (the  old  one,  which 
the  staff-captain  put  on  whenever  he  went  to  the  bastion, 
was  not  mended). 

“ Why  is  not  the  coat  mended  ? All  you  care  for  is 
sleeping,  lazybones  ! ” angrily  said  Mikhaylov. 

“ Sleeping  ? ” growled  Nikita.  “ I am  doing  nothing 
but  running  around  the  whole  day  like  a dog;  I am  all 
worn  out,  and  then  I may  not  even  sleep  ? ” 

“ You  are  drunk  again,  I see  ! ” 

“ I did  not  get  drunk  on  your  money,  so  why  do  you 
reproach  me  ? ” 

“ Shut  up,  blockhead  ! ” cried  the  staff-captain,  ready 
to  strike  him ; if  he  was  out  of  humour  before,  he  now 
completely  lost  his  patience  and  felt  mortified  by  the 
coarseness  of  Nikita,  whom  he  liked  and  even  pampered, 
and  with  whom  he  had  been  living  for  twelve  years. 

“ Blockhead  ? Blockhead  ? ” repeated  the  servant. 
“ Why  do  you  call  me  such  a name,  sir  ? Think  what 
is  before  you  ! It  is  not  right  to  curse  l” 


344 


SEVASTOPOL 


Mikhaylov  recalled  whither  he  was  to  go  soon,  and  he 
felt  ashamed  of  himself. 

“ Whom  would  you  not  make  lose  his  patience,  Nikita  ? ” 
he  said,  in  a meek  voice.  “ Leave  this  letter  to  father  on 
the  table,  — don’t  touch  it ! ” he  added,  blushing. 

“As  you  command,  sir,”  said  Nikita,  becoming  senti- 
mental under  the  influence  of  the  wine  which  he  had 
drunk,  as  he  said,  on  his  own  money,  and  winking  his 
eyes,  in  an  obvious  desire  to  burst  out  into  tears. 

When  the  staff-captaiu  said  on  the  steps,  “ Good-bye, 
Nikita  ! ” the  latter  suddenly  exploded  in  forced  sobs,  and 
darted  forward  to  kiss  the  hands  of  his  master.  “ Good- 
bye, master  ! ” he  said,  blubbering.  An  old  sailor  woman, 
who  was  standing  on  the  porch,  being  a woman,  could 
not  keep  from  joining  this  sentimental  scene,  began  to 
wipe  her  eyes  with  her  dirty  sleeve  and  to  say  something 
about  gentlemen  even  having  to  suffer  all  kinds  of  tor- 
ments, and  that  she,  poor  creature,  was  left  a widow,  and 
began  for  the  hundredth  time  to  tell  drunken  Nikita  her 
woe : how  her  husband  was  killed  in  the  first  bombard- 
ment, how  her  cottage  was  laid  in  ruins  (the  one  she  was 
now  living  in  did  not  belong  to  her),  and  so  forth.  After 
his  master’s  departure,  Nikita  lighted  a pipe,  asked  the 
landlady’s  daughter  to  go  for  some  brandy,  and  at  once 
stopped  weeping ; on  the  contrary,  he  exchanged  some 
angry  words  with  the  old  woman  for  a little  pail  which, 
so  he  claimed,  she  had  smashed. 

“ And,  maybe,  I shall  only  be  wounded,”  the  staff-cap- 
tain reflected,  as  he  was  approaching  the  bastion  with  his 
company,  in  the  twilight.  “ Where  will  it  be  ? How  ? 
Here  or  here  ? ” he  said  to  himself  mentally,  pointing  to 
his  abdomen  and  to  his  chest.  “ If  it  should  be  here,”  he 
thought  of  the  upper  part  of  his  leg,  “it  might  go  all 
round.  But  if  here,  and  with  a splinter  at  that,  — that 
will  be  the  end  ! ” 

The  staff-captain  walked  along  the  trenches  and  reached 


SEVASTOPOL 


345 


the  lodgments  in  safety ; in  conjunction  with  an  officer 
of  sappers  he  set  the  men  to  work,  though  the  darkness 
was  complete,  and  sat  down  in  a small  pit  beneath  the 
breastwork.  There  was  little  firing.  Occasionally  there 
was  a flash  of  fire,  now  on  our  side,  now  on  7m,  and  the 
burning  fuse  of  a bomb  described  a fiery  arc  on  the  dark, 
starry  heaven.  But  all  the  bombs  lodged  far  behind  and 
to  the  right  of  the  entrenchment,  in  the  pit  of  which  the 
staff-captain  was  sitting.  He  took  a drink  of  brandy, 
ate  a piece  of  cheese,  lighted  his  cigarette,  and,  having 
said  his  prayers,  wanted  to  take  a nap. 


V. 


Prince  Galtsin,  Lieutenant-Colonel  Nef^rdov,  and 
Praskukhin,  whom  no  one  had  invited,  with  whom  no 
one  spoke,  but  who  did  not  leave  them,  went  from  the 
boulevard  to  Kalugin's  to  drink  tea. 

“Well,  you  did  not  finish  the  story  about  Yaska 
M4ndel,”  said  Kalugin,  who,  having  taken  off  his  over- 
coat, sat  down  near  the  window  in  a soft  easy  chair,  and 
unbuttoned  the  collar  of  his  clean,  starched  linen  shirk 
“ How  did  he  get  married  ? ” 

“ It  is  killing,  friend  ! Je  vous  dis , il  y avait  un  temps 
on  ne  parlait  que  de  ga  dc  Petersbourg”  said  Prince  Gal- 
tsin, smiling ; he  leaped  up  from  his  seat  near  the  piano, 
and  seated  himself  on  the  window  near  Kalugin.  “ It  is 
simply  killing.  I know  all  the  details  — ” 

And  he  began  gaily,  cleverly,  and  briskly  to  tell  a love- 
story,  which  we  will  leave  untold,  because  it  does  not 
interest  us.  It  is,  however,  a remarkable  fact  that  not 
only  Prince  Galtsin,  but  all  the  gentlemen,  of  whom  one 
took  up  his  position  on  the  window,  another  stretched  his 
legs,  and  a third  sat  down  at  the  piano,  seemed  to  be 
different  men  from  what  they  had  been  in  the  boulevard : 
there  was  nothing  of  that  ridiculous  conceit  and  haughti- 
ness which  they  displayed  before  the  officers  of  infantry ; 
here  among  their  own,  they  were,  especially  Kalugin  and 
Prince  Galtsin,  quite  natural,  and  agreeable,  merry,  and 
good  fellows.  The  conversation  turned  on  their  St. 
Petersburg  fellow  officers  and  acquaintances. 

“ What  of  Maslovski  ? ” 


346 


SEVASTOPOL 


347 


“ Which  ? The  uhlan  of  the  body-guard,  or  of  the 
horse-guard  ? ” 

“I  know  both  of  them.  The  one  of  the  horse-guard 
was  a boy  in  my  days,  just  out  of  school.  What  is  the 
elder  one  now  ? A captain  of  cavalry  ? ” 

“ Yes,  long  ago.” 

“ And  is  he  still  keeping  his  gipsy  maid  ? ” 

“No,  he  has  given  her  up  — ” and  so  forth,  in  the 
same  strain. 

Then  Prince  G^ltsin  sat  down  at  the  piano,  and  sang  a 
gipsy  song  superbly.  Praskukhin,  without  being  asked 
by  any  one  to  do  so,  began  to  accompany  him,  and  he  did 
it  so  well  that  he  was  asked  to  continue  singing  second, 
which  gave  him  much  pleasure. 

A servant  came  in  with  tea,  cream,  and  cracknels  on  a 
silver  tray. 

“ Serve  the  prince  ! ” said  Kalugin. 

“ Really,  it  is  strange,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,” 
said  Galtsin,  taking  a glass,  and  walking  to  the  window. 
“ Here  we  are  in  a besieged  city : piano,  tea  with  cream, 
and  such  quarters  as,  truly,  I should  like  to  have  in  St. 
Petersburg.” 

“ If  it  were  not  for  this,”  said  the  old  lieutenant-colonel, 
who  was  dissatisfied  with  everything,  “ this  eternal  expec- 
tation of  something  would  be  insufferable  — to  see  men 
killed  day  after  day  — and  no  end  to  it  — and  to  live  in 
mud  and  have  no  comforts.” 

“ And  how  is  it  with  our  infantry  officers,”  said  Kalugin, 
“ who  are  living  with  their  soldiers  in  the  bastions  and  in 
the  blindage,  and  who  eat  the  soldiers’  beet  soup  — how 
is  it  with  them  ? ” 

“ How  is  it  with  them  ? Though  they  do  not  change 
their  linen  for  ten  days  at  a time,  they  are  heroes,  and 
wonderful  men.” 

Just  then  an  infantry  officer  entered  the  room. 

“I  — I was  ordered  — may  I report  to  Gen — to  his 


348 


SEVASTOPOL 


Excellency  from  General  N ? ” he  asked,  with  a timid 

bow. 

Kalugin  rose,  but,  without  returning  the  officer’s  salute, 
with  offensive  politeness  and  a strained,  official  smile, 
asked  the  officer  whether  it  would  not  please  them  to  wait 
and,  without  asking  him  to  be  seated,  and  paying  no 
further  attention  to  him,  turned  to  Galtsin  and  began  to 
speak  to  him  in  French,  so  that  the  poor  officer,  who  was 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  was  absolutely  at  a 
loss  what  to  do  with  himself. 

“ A very  pressing  affair,”  said  the  officer,  after  a mo- 
ment’s silence. 

“ Ah  ! then  please  come ! ” said  Kalugin,  putting  on  his 
overcoat,  and  taking  the  officer  to  the  door. 

“ Eh  loien,  messieurs,  je  erois , que  cela  chauffera  cette 
nuit,”  said  Kalugin,  coming  back  from  the  general’s. 

“ What  ? What  is  it  ? A sortie  ? ” they  all  began  to 
ask. 

“ I do  not  know.  You  will  find  out  yourselves,”  said 
Kalugin,  with  a mysterious  smile. 

“ My  commander  is  in  the  bastion,  consequently  I 
ought  to  go  there  myself,”  said  Praskukhin,  buckling  on 
his  sabre. 

But  nobody  replied  to  him ; he  ought  to  have  known 
himself  whether  he  was  to  go  there,  or  not. 

Praskukhin  and  Neffirdov  went  out,  in  order  to  betake 
themselves  to  their  places.  “ Good-bye,  gentlemen ! ” “ An 
revoir , gentlemen  ! We  shall  see  each  other  to-night ! ” 
cried  Kalugin  through  the  window,  as  Praskukhin  and 
Neffirdov,  leaning  on  the  bows  of  their  Cossack  saddles, 
galloped  down  the  street. 

“ Non , dites  moi , est-ee  qu’il  y aura  veritablement  quelque 
chose  cette  nuit  ? ” said  Galtsin,  lying  with  Kalugin  on  the 
window,  and  looking  at  the  bombs  which  were  rising 
above  the  bastions. 

“ I may  tell  you,  you  see  — you  have  been  in  the  bas- 


SEVASTOPOL 


349 


tions,  have  you  not  ? ” (Galtsin  made  a sign  of  affirmation 
though  he  had  been  but  once  in  the  fourth  bastion.) 
“ Opposite  our  lunette  was  a trench,”  and  Kalugin,  not 
being  a specialist,  but  still  regarding  his  military  reflec- 
tions as  quite  correct,  began,  somewhat  confusedly,  and 
distorting  the  fortification  terminology,  to  tell  about  the 
position  of  our  works  and  about  that  of  the  enemy's  and 
about  the  plan  of  the  impending  engagement. 

“ I declare,  they  are  beginning  to  crack  a little  near  the 
lodgments.  Oh!  is  this  ours  or  his?  There  it  bursts,” 
they  said,  lying  in  the  window,  looking  at  the  fiery  paths 
of  the  bombs  crossing  each  other  in  the  air,  at  the  flashes  of 
the  volleys,  which  for  a moment  illuminated  the  dark 
blue  sky,  and  at  the  white  powder  smoke,  and  listening 
to  the  ever  increasing  sounds  of  the  reports. 

“ Quel  charmant  coup  d'oeil ! eh  ? ” said  Kalugin,  direct- 
ing his  guest's  attention  to  this  really  beautiful  spectacle. 
“ Do  you  know,  at  times  it  is  not  possible  to  distinguish 
a bomb  from  a star.” 

“ Yes.  I just  now  thought  it  was  a star ; but  it  began 
to  settle,  — there  it  has  burst.  And  that  big  star  over 
there,  what  do  you  call  it  ? It  is  just  like  a bomb.” 

“ Do  you  know,  I am  so  accustomed  to  these  bombs  that 
I am  quite  sure  that  in  Russia  all  these  will  seem  to  mer, 
in  a starry  night,  to  be  bombs.  One  gets  so  used  to 
things.” 

“ I wonder  whether  I had  not  better  go  to  this  sortie,” 
said  Prince  Galtsin,  after  a moment  of  silence. 

“ Don’t  say  that,  friend ! Don’t  even  think  of  it ! I 
won’t  let  you  go  anyway,”  answered  Kalugin.  “You 
have  time  yet,  friend ! ” 

“ Seriously  ? So  you  think  that  I ought  not  to  go  ? 
Eh?” 

At  this  time,  a terrible  cracking  of  muskets  was 
heard  immediately  after  the  artillery  roar,  in  the  direc- 
tion where  these  gentlemen  were  looking,  and  thousands 


350 


SEVASTOPOL 


of  small  lights  uninterruptedly  flashed'  and  gleamed  all 
along  the  line. 

“ That’s  it,  the  real  thing ! ” said  Kalugin.  “ I cannot 
hear  with  equanimity  this  musketry-fire ; you  know,  it 
just  gripes  my  soul.  There  is  a hurrah  ! ” he  added,  lis- 
tening attentively  to  the  distant  drawling  roar  of  hundreds 
of  voices,  “ ah-ah-ah,”  which  was  borne  to  him  from  the 
bastion. 

“ Whose  hurrah  is  this,  theirs  or  ours  ? ” 

“ I do  not  know  ; it  has  now  come  to  a hand-to-hand 
fight,  for  the  firing  has  stopped.” 

At  that  moment,  an  officer  with  a Cossack  rode  up  to 
the  porch  beneath  the  window,  and  leaped  from  his  horse. 

“ From  where  ? ” 

“ From  the  bastion.  I must  see  the  general.” 

“ Come  on.  Well,  what  is  it  ? ” 

“ They  attacked  the  lodgments  — took  them  — The 
French  brought  up  immense  reserves  — attacked  ours  — 
there  were  only  two  battalions,”  said,  out  of  breath,  the 
very  officer  who  had  come  in  the  evening,  with  difficulty 
drawing  his  breath,  but  walking  toward  the  door  with 
perfect  ease. 

“ Well,  did  they  retreat  ? ” asked  Galtsin. 

“ No ! ” angrily  replied  the  officer.  “ The  battalion 
came  up  in  time,  they  were  repulsed ; but  the  commander 
of  the  regiment  was  killed,  and  many  officers,  and  I am 
ordered  to  ask  for  reinforcements.” 

With  these  words  he  went  with  Kalugin  to  the  gen- 
eral’s, whither  we  shall  not  follow  him. 

Five  minutes  later,  Kalugin  was  seated  on  a Cossack 
horse  (again  in  that  peculiar  quasi-Cossack  pose,  which, 
so  I have  observed,  all  the  adjutants,  for  some  reason 
or  other,  find  especially  agreeable),  galloped  away  to  the 
bastion,  in  order  to  transmit  there  certain  orders,  and  to 
wait  for  some  news  of  the  result  of  the  engagement. 
Prince  G&ltsin,  under  the  influence  of  that  strong  agita- 


SEVASTOPOL 


351 


tion  which  the  signs  of  an  impending  engagement  pro- 
duce on  a spectator  who  does  not  take  part  in  it,  went 
out  into  the  street,  and  began  aimlessly  to  pace  up  and 
down. 


VI. 


Soldiers  were  carrying  the  wounded  on  stretchers 
and  leading  them  by  their  arms.  The  street  was  com- 
pletely dark ; only  here  and  there  lights  glimmered  in  the 
windows  of  the  hospital  or  of  the  quarters  of  officers 
sitting  up  late.  From  the  bastions  was  borne  the  same 
roar  of  ordnance  and  of  musketry  cross-fires,  and  the 
same  lights  flashed  against  the  black  heaven.  Occasion- 
ally could  be  heard  the  tramp  of  the  horse  of  an  orderly 
galloping  past,  the  groan  of  a wounded  soldier,  the  steps 
and  conversation  of  the  bearers,  or  a feminine  voice  of 
some  frightened  inhabitant  who  had  gone  out  on  the 
porch  to  take  a look  at  the  cannonade. 

Among  the  latter  was  also  our  acquaintance  Nikita, 
the  old  sailor  woman,  with  whom  he  had  in  the  mean- 
time made  peace,  and  her  ten-year-old  daughter. 

“ 0 Lord,  and  most  holy  Virgin ! ” the  old  woman 
said  to  herself,  with  a sigh,  looking  at  the  bombs  which 
incessantly  flew  from  one  side  to  the  other,  like  balls  of 
fire.  “ Awful,  just  awful ! Oho  ! There  was  nothing  like 
this  in  the  first  bardment.  You  see  where  the  accursed 
one  has  burst  ? Eight  over  our  house  in  the  village.” 

“ No,  that  is  farther  away.  They  all  fall  into  Aunt 
Arinka’s  garden,”  said  the  girl. 

“ And  where,  oh,  where  is  now  my  master  ? ” said 
Nikita,  in  a chanting  voice,  and  still  a little  drunk.  “ How 
I do  love  this  master  of  mine  ! I love  him  so  that  if  — 
God  forfend  it!  — he  should  be  killed  in  the  accursed 
action,  I do  not  know  what  I should  do  with  myself, 

352 


SEVASTOPOL 


353 


truly,  aunty,  upon  my  word ! Just  let  me  tell  you  there 
is  no  master  like  him ! He  is  not  to  be  mistaken  for  one 
of  those  that  play  cards  here  ! What  are  they  ? Pshaw  ! 
In  short  — ” concluded  Nikita,  pointing  to  the  lighted 
window  of  his  master’s  room,  where  Yunker  Zhvadch&ki 
had  invited,  in  the  absence  of  the  staff-captain,  some 
guests  for  a carousal,  in  celebration  of  the  cross  which 
he  had  received ; these  were  Sub-Lieutenant  Ugrovich 
and  Sub-Lieutenant  Nepshisetski,  who  was  suffering  from 
catarrh. 

“ The  little  stars,  the  little  stars  keep  a-rolling ! ” the 
girl,  gazing  at  the  sky,  broke  the  silence  which  followed 
after  Nikita’s  words.  “ There,  there  another  has  come 
down.  What  is  that  for,  mamma  ? ” 

“ They  will  entirely  demolish  our  cottage,”  said  the  old 
woman,  sighing,  without  replying  to  her  daughter’s 
question. 

“ When  we  went  there  to-day  with  uncle,  mamma,” 
continued  the  girl,  in  a singsong,  “ such  an  awful  cannon- 
ball was  lying  in  the  very  room  near  the  safe ; it  must 
have  gone  through  the  vestibule,  and  have  flown  into  the 
room  — such  an  awfully  big  one  that  you  could  not 
lift  it.” 

“ Whoever  had  a husband  and  money,  has  left,”  said 
the  old  woman,  “ but  there,  they  have  ruined  the  last 
little  cottage  I had.  You  see,  you  see  how  he  is  firing, 
that  rascal ! Lord,  Lord  ! ” 

“ And  as  we  were  coming  out,  one  bomb  came  a-flying 
and  it  burst,  and  it  scattered  the  dirt,  and  it  almost 
struck  uncle  and  me  with  a splinter.” 


VII. 


Prince  Galtsin  kept  coming  across  more  and  more 
wounded  soldiers  on  stretchers  and  afoot,  supporting  each 
other,  and  speaking  loudly  among  themselves. 

" How  they  did  jump,  my  friends ! ” said,  in  a bass,  a 
tall  soldier,  carrying  two  guns  on  his  back.  “ How  they 
jumped  and  cried  1 Allah  ! Allah  Z’1  and  began  to  crawl 
over  each  other.  You  kill  some,  and  others  come  in  their 
place,  — there  is  nothing  to  be  done.  An  endless  — ” 

But  at  this  point  Galtsin  stopped  him. 

“ Are  you  from  the  bastion  ? ” 

“ Yes,  your  Honour  ! ” 

“ Well,  what  has  happened  there  ? Tell  me  ! ” 

“ What  has  happened  ? A might  of  them  made  the 
advance,  your  Honour,  and  they  climbed  the  rampart, 
and  that's  all.  We  have  succumbed  entirely,  your 
Honour ! ” 

“ How  succumbed  ? Did  you  not  repel  them  ? ” 

“ How  could  we  repel  them,  when  his  whole  might 
came  up  against  us  ? They  have  disabled  us  all,  and  we 
are  getting  no  reinforcements." 

The  soldier  was  mistaken,  because  the  trenches  were  in 
our  possession ; but  this  is  a peculiarity  commonly  ob- 
served: a soldier  who  is  wounded  in  an  action  always 
considers  it  lost  and  dreadfully  sanguinary. 

“ How  is  it,  I was  told  they  were  beaten  off  ? ” Galtsin 

1 Having  fought  with  the  Turks,  our  soldiers  had  become  so  accus- 
tomed to  this  cry  of  the  enemy,  that  they  ascribed  it  also  to  the  French. 

■ — Author' 8 note . 


354 


SEVASTOPOL 


365 


said,  with  mortification.  “ Maybe  they  were  beaten  off 
after  you  left  ? How  long  ago  did  you  leave  ? ” 

“ Just  lately,  your  Honour ! ” answered  the  soldier. 
“ 1 doubt  it.  The  trenches  must  all  be  on  his  side  — we 
have  completely  succumbed.” 

“ Well,  how  is  it  you  are  not  ashamed  ? To  give  up 
the  trenches ! This  is  terrible  ! ” said  Galtsin,  saddened 
by  this  indifference. 

“ What  was  to  be  done  ? There  was  such  a might ! ” 
grumbled  the  soldier. 

“ Oh,  your  Honour ! ” suddenly  said  a soldier  on  a 
stretcher  which  came  alongside  them.  “ How  could  we 
help  giving  them  up,  when  nearly  all  of  us  have  been 
disabled  ? If  we  had  had  the  proper  forces,  we  would 
not  have  given  them  up  in  a lifetime.  But  what  was  to 
be  done  ? I stabbed  one,  and  then  it  struck  me  here  — 
Oh,  easier,  friends,  steadily,  friends,  walk  more  steadily ! 
Oh,  oh,  oh  ! ” groaned  the  wounded  man. 

“ Indeed,  there  seems  to  be  too  large  a crowd  coming 
back,”  said  Galtsin,  again  stopping  the  tall  soldier  with 
the  two  guns.  “ What  are  you  going  for  ? Oh,  there, 
stop ! ” 

The  soldier  stopped,  and  with  his  left  hand  raised  his 
cap. 

“ Whither  are  you  going,  and  for  what  ? ” he  cried, 
sternly,  to  him.  “ Good-for  — ” 

But,  walking  up  close  to  the  soldier,  he  noticed  that 
his  right  arm  was  bare  above  the  elbow,  and  blood- 
stained. 

“ Wounded,  your  Honour ! ” 

“ How  wounded  ? ” 

“ Here,  I suppose,  by  a bullet,”  said  the  soldier,  pointing 
to  the  arm.  “ I can't  tell  what  it  was  that  knocked  me 
in  the  head,”  and,  bending  down,  he  showed  his  bloods 
stained  and  matted  hair  on  the  back  of  his  head. 

“ Whose  is  the  second  gun  ? ” 


356 


SEVASTOPOL 


“A  French  carbine,  your  Honour!  I took  it  away. 
Indeed,  I should  not  have  come  away,  if  I did  not  have 
to  accompany  this  soldier ; he  might  fall  by  himself,”  he 
added,  pointing  to  a soldier  who  was  walking  a little 
ahead  of  them,  leaning  on  his  gun,  and  with  difficulty 
dragging  along  and  moving  his  left  leg. 

Prince  Galtsin  suddenly  felt  dreadfully  ashamed  for  his 
unjust  suspicions.  He  was  conscious  of  blushing;  he 
turned  his  face  away,  and,  without  asking  anything  else 
of  the  wounded,  or  observing  them,  he  walked  to  the 
ambulance  hall. 

Having  with  difficulty  made  his  way  on  the  porch, 
between  wounded  soldiers  on  foot  and  the  bearers  of 
stretchers,  who  went  in  with  the  wounded  and  came  out 
with  the  dead,  Galtsin  went  into  the  first  room,  cast  a 
glance  about  him,  and  at  once  involuntarily  turned 
around,  and  ran  out  into  the  street.  It  was  too  terrible ! 


YIII. 


The  large,  high,  dark  hall,  illuminated  only  by  four  or 
five  candles,  with  which  the  surgeons  went  up  to  examine 
the  wounded,  was  literally  full.  The  bearers  continually 
brought  in  wounded  soldiers,  placed  them  close  to  each 
other  on  the  floor,  which  was  already  so  crowded  that 
the  unfortunates  were  pressed  together  and  soaked  in  the 
blood  of  each  other,  and  went  out  for  other  men.  The 
puddles  of  blood,  which  could  be  seen  in  unoccupied 
spots,  the  feverish  breaths  of  several  hundred  men,  and 
the  exhalations  of  the  men  busy  about  the  stretchers  pro- 
duced a peculiar,  oppressive,  dense,  noisome  stench,  in 
which  the  candles  in  the  different  corners  of  the  room 
flickered  gloomily.  The  sounds  of  various  groans,  sighs, 
and  snoring,  interrupted  now  and  then  by  a penetrating 
cry,  hovered  in  the  air.  The  Sisters  of  Mercy,  with 
calm  faces  and  with  an  expression  not  only  of  mere  femi- 
nine, sickly,  lachrymose  compassion,  but  of  active,  practical 
sympathy,  stepping  here  and  there  over  the  wounded,  with 
medicaments,  with  water,  bandages,  and  lint,  flitted  be- 
tween the  blood-stained  overcoats  and  shirts.  The  sur- 
geons, with  rolled-up  sleeves,  kneeling  before  the  wounded, 
near  whom  the  assistants  held  the  candles,  examined,  felt, 
and  probed  the  wounds,  in  spite  of  the  terrible  groans  and 
entreaties  of  the  sufferers.  One  doctor  was  seated  at  a 
table  near  the  door,  and  just  as  Galtsin  entered  the  hall, 
he  marked  down  No.  532. 

“ Ivan  Bogaev,  private  of  the  third  company  of  the  S. 
regiment,  Fradura  femuris  complicated”  cried  another, 

357 


358 


SEVASTOPOL 


from  the  end  of  the  hall,  feeling  the  shattered  leg.  “ Turn 
him  around  ! ” 

“ Oh,  oh,  fathers,  my  fathers  ! ” cried  the  soldier,  en- 
treating them  not  to  touch  him. 

“ Perforatio  capitis ” 

“ Sem4n  Nefr^dov,  lieutenant-colonel  of  the  N regi- 

ment of  infantry.  You  must  be  patient  a little,  colonel, 
or  else  I can’t  do  anything.  I will  give  you  up,”  said  a 
third,  rummaging  with  a hook  in  the  brain  of  the  unfor- 
tunate lieutenant-colonel. 

“ Oh,  it  is  not  necessary ! Oh,  for  the  Lord’s  sake, 
hurry  up,  hurry  up,  for  the  — ah-ah-ah  ! ” 

“ Perforatio  pectoris  — Sevastyan  Sereda,  private  — of 
what  regiment  ? However,  don’t  write  down,  moritur . 
Take  him  away,”  said  the  doctor,  walking  away  from  the 
soldier,  who  was  rolling  his  eyes,  and  having  the  rattle  in 
his  throat. 

About  forty  soldiers  of  the  ambulance,  waiting  for  the 
loads  of  the  dressed  to  be  taken  to  the  hospital,  and  of 
the  dead  to  the  chapel,  were  standing  at  the  door,  and, 
silently,  now  and  then  sighing,  were  looking  at  this 
spectacle. 


IX. 


On  his  way  to  the  bastion,  Kalugin  met  many  wounded 
soldiers.  Knowing  from  experience  how  badly  such  a 
spectacle  affects  in  an  engagement  a man's  spirit,  he  not 
only  did  not  stop  to  question  them,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
endeavoured  not  to  pay  the  least  attention  to  them.  At 
the  foot  of  the  hill  he  came  across  an  orderly,  who  was 
galloping  at  full  speed  from  the  bastion. 

“ Zobkin,  Zobkin  ! Stop  a minute  ! ” 

“ Well,  what  is  it  ? ” 

“ Where  do  you  come  from  ? ” 

“ From  the  lodgments.” 

“ Well,  how  is  it  there  ? hot  ? ” 

“ Oh,  terrible  ! ” 

And  the  orderly  galloped  away. 

Indeed,  although  there  were  few  volleys  of  musketry, 
the  cannonade  began  with  renewed  vim  and  fury. 

“ Oh,  it  is  bad  ! ” thought  Kalugin,  experiencing  a cer- 
tain disagreeable  sensation,  and  he,  too,  had  a presenti- 
ment, that  is,  a very  common  thought,  — the  thought  of 
death.  But  Kalugin  was  egoistical  and  endowed  with 
wooden  nerves,  in  short,  he  was  what  is  called  brave.  He 
did  not  succumb  to  his  first  sentiment,  and  began  to 
encourage  himself ; he  thought  of  a certain  adjutant,  of 
Napoleon's,  I think,  who,  having  transmitted  his  orders, 
galloped  up  at  full  speed  to  Napoleon,  with  bleeding  head. 

“ Vous  etes  blesse  ! ” said  Napoleon  to  him.  “ Je  vous 
demande  pardon , sire , je  suis  mort”  and  the  adjutant  fell 
down  from  his  horse,  and  expired  on  the  spot. 

369 


360 


SEVASTOPOL 


This  incident  seemed  very  nice  to  him,  and  he  imagined 
himself  a little  that  adjutant ; then  he  struck  his  horse 
with  the  whip,  and  assumed  a still  more  dashing  Cossack 
attitude,  looked  back  at  the  Cossack,  who,  standing  in  his 
stirrups,  was  galloping  behind  him,  and  arrived  as  a val- 
iant soldier  at  the  place  where  he  had  to  dismount  from 
his  horse.  Here  he  found  four  soldiers,  who  were  sitting 
on  some  stones,  and  smoking  their  pipes, 

“ What  are  you  doing  here  ? ” he  shouted  to  them. 

“ We  have  taken  away  a wounded  man,  your  Honour, 
and  so  we  are  taking  a little  rest/’  answered  one  of  them, 
hiding  his  pipe  behind  his  back,  and  doffing  his  cap. 

“ Taking  a rest,  eh  ? March  to  your  places  ! ” 

He  walked  with  them  along  the  trench,  up  the  hill, 
meeting  wounded  soldiers  at  every  step.  When  he  had 
reached  the  top,  he  turned  to  the  left,  and,  having  taken 
a few  steps  in  that  direction,  suddenly  found  himself 
alone.  A splinter  whizzed  by  close  to  him,  and  struck 
into  the  trench.  Another  bomb  rose  in  front  of  him,  and, 
it  seemed,  was  flying  straight  upon  him.  All  at  once  he 
felt  terribly : he  raced  forward  about  five  steps,  and  lay 
down  flat  on  the  ground.  When  the  bomb  exploded  some 
distance  away  from  him,  he  was  dreadfully  mortified, 
and  he  got  up  and  looked  around,  to  see  whether  anybody 
had  noticed  his  fall ; but  nobody  was  near. 

When  terror  once  enters  your  soul,  it  does  not  easily 
give  way  to  another  sensation.  Having  always  boasted  of 
never  bending,  he  now  walked  up  the  trench  with  hurried 
step,  and  almost  in  a creeping  posture.  “ Ah,  it  is  bad  ! ” 
he  thought,  stumbling,  “ I shall  certainly  be  killed,”  and, 
feeling  how  heavily  he  was  breathing,  and  how  the  per- 
spiration stood  out  on  his  whole  body,  he  was  amazed  at 
himself,  but  no  longer  tried  to  overcome  his  feeling. 

Suddenly  somebody’s  steps  were  heard  in  front  of  him. 
He  immediately  straightened  up,  raised  his  head,  and, 
briskly  clanking  his  sabre,  went  ahead  with  less  hurried 


SEVASTOPOL 


361 


step.  He  did  not  recognize  himself.  When  he  came 
upon  an  officer  of  sappers  and  a sailor,  who  were  walking 
toward  him,  and  the  first  called  out  to  him,  “ Lie  down  ! ” 
pointing  to  the  bright  point  of  a bomb,  which,  approaching 
brighter  and  brighter,  and  faster  and  faster,  struck  the 
ground  near  the  trench,  he  involuntarily  bent  his  head 
a little,  under  the  influence  of  the  terrified  voice,  and 
walked  on. 

“ What  a brave  fellow  ! ” said  the  sailor,  who  was  calmly 
watching  the  falling  bomb,  and  with  an  experienced  eye 
at  once  figured  out  that  its  splinters  could  not  reach  the 
trench.  “ He  does  not  even  want  to  he  down.” 

There  were  but  a few  paces  left  for  Kalugin  to  make 
across  the  small  square,  up  to  the  blindage  of  the  com- 
mander of  the  bastion,  when  he  was  again  overcome  by 
darkness  and  a foolish  terror  ; his  heart  beat  more  strongly, 
the  blood  rushed  to  his  head,  and  he  had  to  exert  an 
effort  over  himself,  in  order  to  run  as  far  as  the  blindage. 

“ Why  are  you  so  out  of  breath  ? ” said  the  general, 
when  he  communicated  the  orders  to  him. 

“ I was  walking  very  fast,  your  Excellency  ! ” 

“ Don’t  you  want  a glass  of  wine  ? ” 

Kalugin  drank  a glass  of  wine,  and  lighted  a cigarette. 
The  engagement  was  over ; only  a heavy  cannonade  was 

kept  up  on  both  sides.  In  the  blindage  sat  General  N , 

the  commander  of  the  bastion,  and  some  six  other  officers, 
among  whom  was  also  Praskukhin,  and  they  were  discuss- 
ing various  details  of  the  action.  Sitting  in  this  cosy 
room,  with  its  blue  wall-paper,  with  a divan,  a bed,  a table, 
on  which  lay  papers,  with  a clock  and  an  image,  before 
which  a lamp  was  burning ; looking  at  these  signs  of  life, 
and  at  the  huge  yard  beams,  of  which  the  ceiling  was 
formed ; and  listening  to  the  cannonading,  which  in  the 
blindage  appeared  feeble,  Kalugin  absolutely  could  not 
comprehend  how  it  was  he  had  allowed  himself  twice 
to  be  overcome  by  such  an  unpardonable  weakness.  He 


362 


SEVASTOPOL 


was  angry  with  himself,  and  he  was  anxious  for  some 
danger,  in  order  to  test  himself. 

“ I am  glad  you  are  here,  captain,1 ” he  said  to  a naval 
officer,  in  the  overcoat  of  an  officer  of  the  staff,  with  long 
moustache  and  the  Cross  of  St.  George,  who  had  just 
entered  into  the  blindage,  to  ask  the  general  for  some 
workmen  to  mend  in  his  battery  two  embrasures  which 
had  caved  in.  “ The  general  has  ordered  me  to  find  out,” 
continued  Kalugin,  when  the  commander  of  the  battery 
was  through  with  the  general,  “ whether  your  ordnance 
can  discharge  canister-shot  along  the  trench  ? ” 

“ Only  one  gun  will  do  it,”  the  captain  replied,  gloomily. 

“ Still,  let  us  go  and  ]ook.” 

The  captain  frowned,  and  angrily  cleared  his  throat. 

“ I have  been  standing  there  all  night,  and  have  come 
away  to  take  a little  rest,”  he  said.  “ Can’t  you  go  down 
yourself  ? My  assistant,  Lieutenant  Karts,  is  there,  and 
he  will  show  you  around.” 

The  captain  had  for  six  months  commanded  this,  one 
of  the  most  perilous  batteries,  and  had  passed  his  time 
uninterruptedly  in  the  bastion,  ever  since  the  beginning  of 
the  siege,  when  as  yet  there  were  no  blindages,  and  he 
had  among  sailors  a reputation  for  bravery.  Consequently 
his  refusal  startled  and  surprised  Kalugin.  “ A fine  rep- 
utation ! ” he  thought. 

“ Well,  then  I will  go  by  myself,  if  you  will  permit,” 
he  said,  in  a slightly  derisive  tone,  to  the  captain,  who, 
however,  did  not  pay  the  least  attention  to  his  words. 

Kalugin  did  not  consider  that  he  had  at  different  times, 
taken  all  together,  passed  fifty  hours  in  the  bastions, 
whereas  the  captain  had  lived  there  for  six  months. 
Kalugin  was  urged  on  by  vanity,  by  the  desire  to  shine, 
by  the  hope  of  earning  a reward  and  a reputation,  and  by 
the  charm  of  the  risk,  while  the  captain  had  long  passed 
through  all  that:  at  first  he  had  been  vain,  had  done 
daring  deeds,  courted  danger,  hoped  for  rewards  and  for 


SEVASTOPOL 


363 


a reputation,  and  even  had  obtained  them,  but  now  all 
these  impelling  causes  had  lost  their  power  with  him,  and 
he  looked  at  matters  quite  differently.  He  promptly 
executed  his  duties,  but  comprehending  well  how  very 
few  chances  of  life  there  were  left  for  him,  after  six 
months  in  the  bastion,  he  no  longer  risked  these  chances 
without  imperative  necessity,  so  that  the  young  lieutenant, 
who  had  joined  the  battery  about  a week  ago,  and  who 
now  was  showing  Kalugin  around,  unnecessarily  vying 
with  him  in  thrusting  his  head  forward  through  the 
embrasures  and  walking  out  on  the  banquettes,  seemed 
ten  times  more  brave  than  the  captain. 

Having  inspected  the  battery,  Kalugin,  on  his  way  back 
to  the  blindage,  stumbled  in  the  darkness  on  the  general, 
who  with  his  orderlies  was  going  to  the  watch-tower. 

“ Captain  Praskukhin ! ” said  the  general,  “ please  go 
down  to  the  right  lodgment,  and  tell  the  second  battalion 

of  the  M regiment,  who  are  working  there,  to  leave 

the  work,  and  to  walk  away  noiselessly  and  join  their 
regiment,  which  is  standing  in  reserve  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill — You  understand?  Take  them  yourself  down 
to  the  regiment.” 

“ Yes,  sir  ! ” 

Praskukhin  ran  at  full  gallop  to  the  lodgment. 

The  firing  was  growing  less  frequent. 


X. 


u Is  this  the  second  battalion  of  the  M regiment  ? ” 

asked  Praskukhin,  having  reached  the  place,  and  stum- 
bling against  soldiers  who  were  carrying  dirt  in  bags. 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ Where  is  the  commander  ? ” 

Surmising  that  the  commander  of  the  company  was 
wanted,  Mikhaylov  crawled  out  of  his  pit,  and,  taking 
Praskukhin  for  the  chief,  he  went  up  to  him,  with  his 
hand  at  his  visor. 

“ The  general  has  commanded  — you  — please  go  — as 
fast  as  possible  — and,  above  all,  softly  — back  — no,  not 
back,  but  to  the  reserve,”  said  Praskukhin,  looking  askance 
in  the  direction  of  the  enemy’s  fires. 

Having  recognized  Praskukhin,  dropping  his  hand,  and 
having  grasped  the  whole  matter,  Mikhaylov  gave  the 
order,  and  the  soldiers  of  the  battalion  began  to  stir,  to 
pick  up  their  muskets,  to  put  on  their  overcoats,  and  tc 
move. 

He  who  has  not  experienced  it  cannot  form  an  idea  of 
the  pleasure  which  a man  feels  when  he  leaves,  after  three 
hours  of  bombardment,  such  a perilous  place  as  the  lodg- 
ments. In  these  three  hours  Mikhaylov  had  more  than 
once,  not  without  reason,  regarded  his  end  as  inevitable,  and 
he  had  become  accustomed  to  his  conviction  that  he  should 
certainly  be  killed,  and  that  he  no  longer  belonged  to  this 
world.  And  yet  it  cost  him  a great  effort  to  keep  his 
legs  from  running,  when  he  left  the  lodgments  at  the 
head  of  his  company,  abreast  with  Praskukhin. 

364 


SEVASTOPOL 


365 


“ Good-bye!”  said  to  him  a major,  the  commander  of 
another  battalion  that  was  to  remain  in  the  lodgments, 
and  with  whom  he  had  shared  the  cheese,  while  sitting 
in  the  pit,  near  the  breastworks.  “ I wish  you  a happy 
journey ! ” 

“ And  I wish  you  luck  in  your  position.  It  seems,  it 
has  quieted  down  now.” 

But  no  sooner  had  he  said  this  than  the  enemy,  evi- 
dently having  noticed  the  motion  in  the  lodgments,  began 
to  fire  oftener  and  oftener.  Our  men  began  to  return  the 
fire,  and  a furious  cannonading  began  once  more.  The 
stars  were  shining  high,  but  not  brilliantly.  The  night 
was  pitch-dark ; only  the  flashes  from  the  volleys  and 
the  exploding  bombs  momentarily  lighted  up  things.  The 
soldiers  walked  fast  in  silence,  and  involuntarily  raced  with 
each  other ; between  the  uninterrupted  peals  of  the  can- 
nonade nothing  was  heard  but  the  even  sound  of  the  steps 
on  the  dry  road,  the  clattering  of  the  bayonets,  or  the 
sigh  and  prayer  of  some  soldier,  “ 0 Lord,  0 Lord,  what  is 
this  ? ” Now  and  then  could  be  heard  the  groan  of  a 
wounded  man,  and  the  cries,  “ The  stretcher  ! ” (In  the 
company  which  Mikhaylov  commanded,  twenty-six  men 
were  put  out  of  action  by  one  artillery  fire.)  There  was 
a flash  on  the  distant  gloomy  horizon,  the  sentry  cried 
from  the  bastion,  “ Can-non  ! ” and  a ball,  whizzing  above 
the  company,  tore  up  the  ground  and  scattered  stones. 

“ The  devil  take  it ! How  slowly  they  are  walking ,” 
thought  Praskukhin,  continually  looking  back,  as  he 
walked  at  Mikhaylov’s  side.  “ Truly,  I had  better  run 
ahead.  I have  transmitted  the  order  — Still,  no ; they 
might  later  say  that  I am  a coward ! Come  what  may,  I 
will  walk  with  them.” 

“ Why  does  he  keep  at  my  side  ? ” thought  Mikhaylov, 
for  his  part.  “ So  far  as  I have  observed,  he  always  brings 
misfortune.  There  it  flies,  straight  upon  us,  it  seems.” 

Having  made  a few  hundred  steps,  they  stumbled  on 


366 


SEVASTOPOL 


Kalugin,  who,  briskly  clattering  his  sabre,  was  walking  to 
the  lodgments,  in  order  to  find  out,  by  the  general’s  com- 
mand, how  the  works  were  proceeding  there.  But,  when 
he  met  Mikhaylov,  he  thought  that,  rather  than  go  him- 
self under  this  terrible  fire,  which,  besides,  he  had  not 
been  ordered  to  do,  he  would  get  the  details  from  an  offi- 
cer who  had  been  there.  Indeed,  Mikhaylov  told  him 
everything  about  the  works.  Having  walked  a short  dis- 
tance with  him,  Kalugin  turned  into  the  trench  which 
led  to  the  blindage. 

“Well,  what  is  the  news?”  asked  an  officer  who  was 
sitting  all  alone  in  the  room,  at  supper. 

“ Nothing.  It  seems,  there  will  be  no  further  engage- 
ment.” 

“ How  not  ? On  the  contrary,  the  general  has  just 
gone  once  more  to  the  watch-tower.  Another  regiment 
has  come.  There  it  is  — you  hear?  Again  the  mus- 
ketry fire.  Don’t  go.  Why  should  you  ? ” added  the 
officer,  noticing  the  motion  which  Kalugin  had  made. 

“ By  rights  I ought  certainly  to  be  there,”  thought  Kalu- 
gin, “ but  I have  to-day  exposed  myself  enough  to  danger ; 
it  is  a terrible  fire.” 

“ That’s  so,  I will  wait  for  them  here,”  he  said. 

And,  indeed,  some  twenty  minutes  later  the  general 
returned  with  the  officers  who  were  about  him ; among 
them  was  also  Yunker  Baron  Pest,  but  not  Praskukhin. 
The  attack  had  been  repulsed,  and  the  lodgments  were 
occupied  by  us. 

Having  received  the  exact  information,  Kalugin  walked 
away  with  Pest  from  the  blindage. 


ilBRARY 

OF  Th'E 
V - 


XI. 


“ Your  overcoat  is  bloody ; have  you  really  taken  part 
in  the  hand-to-hand  fight  ? ” Kalugin  asked  him. 

“ Oh,  it  is  terrible  ! Just  imagine  — ” 

And  Pest  began  to  tell  how  he  had  led  his  company, 
how  the  commander  of  the  company  had  been  killed,  how 
he  had  stabbed  a Frenchman,  and  how  the  affair  would 
have  been  lost,  if  it  had  not  been  for  him. 

The  foundation  for  the  story,  that  the  commander  of 
the  company  had  been  killed,  and  that  Pest  himself  had 
killed  a Frenchman,  was  true;  but,  in  giving  the  details, 
the  yunker  was  drawing  on  his  imagination  and  bragging. 

He  was  involuntarily  bragging,  because  during  the 
whole  action  he  was  moving  in  such  a mist  and  oblivion 
that  everything  which  had  occurred  seemed  to  him  to 
have  occurred  somewhere,  at  some  time,  and  with  some- 
body. He  very  naturally  tried  to  reconstruct  these 
details  advantageously  to  himself.  This  is  the  way  it 
really  happened : 

The  battalion  to  which  the  yunker  had  been  detailed 
for  the  sortie  had  been  for  a couple  of  hours  under  fire 
near  a wall;  then  the  commander  of  the  battalion  in 
front  said  something,  — the  commanders  of  the  companies 
began  to  stir,  the  battalion  moved,  emerged  from  behind 
the  breastworks,  and,  having  walked  about  one  hundred 
paces,  stopped,  and  drew  up  in  company  columns.  Pest 
was  ordered  to  take  up  a position  on  the  right  flank  of 
the  second  company. 

Without  being  able  to  give  himself  an  account  where 
307 


368 


SEVASTOPOL 


he  was,  or  why,  the  yunker  took  up  his  position,  and, 
with  bated  breath  and  with  a cold  chill  running  down  his 
spine,  unconsciously  gazed  into  the  distance  ahead  of  him, 
expecting  something  terrible  to  happen.  However,  he 
did  not  feel  so  frightened,  for  there  was  no  firing  then, 
but  he  felt  strange  and  queer,  when  he  reflected  that  he 
was  outside  the  fortress,  in  the  field.  Again  the  com- 
mander of  the  battalion  in  front  said  something.  Again 
the  officers  uttered  something  in  whispers,  as  they  com- 
municated their  orders,  and  the  black  wall  of  the  first 
company  suddenly  crouched.  The  order  was  given  to 
he  down  flat.  The  second  company,  too,  lay  down,  and 
Pest,  in  getting  down,  pricked  his  hand  against  some 
thorny  plant.  The  commander  of  the  second  company 
was  the  only  one  who  did  not  lie  down.  His  short  figure, 
with  the  unsheathed,  sword,  which  he  kept  waving,  moved 
up  and  down  in  front  of  the  company,  talking  all  the  time. 

“ Boys ! Show  yourselves  brave  fellows,  I tell  you  ! 
Don’t  fire  your  guns,  but  run  the  canaille  down  with 
your  bayonets  ! When  I shout  4 Hurrah  ! ’ you  after  me, 
and  no  standing  back  — The  main  thing  is  — all  as  one 
— we  will  give  a good  account  of  ourselves,  we  won’t 
bungle  ! Hey,  boys  ? For  the  Tsar,  our  father  ! ” 

“ What  is  the  name  of  the  commander  of  your  com- 
pany ? ” Pest  asked  a yunker  who  was  lying  abreast 
with  him.  44  What  a brave  fellow  ! ” 

44  Yes,  as  always  before  an  action  — ” answered  the 
yunker.  44  His  name  is  Lisinkovski.” 

At  this  moment,  there  was  a sudden  flash  right  in 
front  of  the  company ; there  was  a terrible  roar  which 
deafened  the  whole  company  ; high  up  in  the  air  stones 
and  splinters  rustled  (it  was  at  least  fifty  seconds  later 
that  a stone  fell  from  above  and  broke  a soldier’s  leg).  It 
was  a bomb  from  an  elevation  gun,  and  the  fact  that  it 
struck  the  company  proved  that  the  French  had  observed 
the  column. 


SEVASTOPOL 


369 


“ Go  ahead  with  your  bombs  ! Just  let  us  get  at  you, 
and  you  will  feel  the  three-edged  Russian  bayonet,  accursed 
one ! ” cried  the  commander  of  the  company,  so  loud  that 
the  commander  of  the  battalion  was  compelled  to  order 
him  to  keep  quiet  and  be  less  noisy. 

Immediately  after  this,  the  first  company  rose,  and 
then  the  second.  They  were  ordered  to  fix  their  bayonets, 
and  the  battalion  advanced.  Pest  was  so  terrified  that  he 
was  absolutely  unconscious  of  time  and  place,  and  of  what 
was  going  on.  He  moved  like  a drunken  man.  Then 
suddenly  a million  fires  flashed  on  all  sides,  and  there  was 
a ping  and  a crash.  He  shouted  and  ran  somewhere,  be- 
cause everybody  else  was  running  and  shouting.  Then 
he  stumbled  and  fell  down  on  something.  It  was  the 
commander  of  the  company,  who  had  been  wounded  at 
the  head  of  his  company,  and  who  seized  the  yunker’s 
leg,  taking  him  for  a Frenchman.  Then  when  he  had 
torn  his  leg  away  and  had  got  up,  a man  reeled  back 
against  him  and  almost  knocked  him  down  once  more ; 
another  man  cried,  “ Stab  him  ! What  are  you  gazing 
at?”  Somebody  took  the  gun,  and  ran  the  bayonet 
through  something  soft.  “ Ah  Dieu  ! ” somebody  cried 
in  a terrible,  penetrating  voice,  and  it  was  only  then  that 
Pest  comprehended  that  he  had  transfixed  a Frenchman. 
Cold  sweat  stood  out  on  his  body,  he  shuddered,  as  in  an 
ague,  and  he  threw  down  the  gun.  But  this  lasted  but  a 
moment ; it  immediately  occurred  to  him  that  he  was 
a hero.  He  grasped  his  gun,  and,  crying  “ Hurrah  ! ” ran 
with  the  throng  away  from  the  killed  Frenchman.  After 
running  some  twenty  paces,  he  arrived  at  the  trench. 
There  were  our  men  and  the  commander  of  the  battalion. 

“ I have  stabbed  one ! ” he  said  to  the  commander  of 
the  battalion. 

" You  are  a brave  fellow,  baron  ! ” 


XII. 


“ Do  you  know,  Praskukliin  has  been  killed,”  said  Pest, 
accompanying  Kalugin,  who  was  going  home. 

“ Impossible ! ” 

“ Most  certainly.  I have  seen  him  myself.” 

“ Good-bye  ! I must  hurry.” 

“ I am  well  satisfied,”  thought  Kalugin,  on  his  way 
back.  “ For  the  first  time  a bit  of  luck,  while  I am  the 
officer  of  the  day.  It  is  a fine  affair ! I am  alive  and 
hale ; there  will  be  a fine  report,  and  I shall  assuredly  get 
a gold  sword.  And  I deserve  it.” 

Having  reported  to  the  general  all  that  was  necessary, 
he  went  to  his  room,  to  which  Prince  Galtsin  had  re- 
turned long  ago,  in  expectation  of  him  ; he  was  reading  a 
book  which  he  had  found  on  Kalugin’s  table. 

It  gave  Kalugin  remarkable  pleasure  to  feel  himself 
at  home  and  out  of  danger.  Having  donned  his  night- 
gown and  lain  down  on  the  bed,  he  told  Galtsin  all  the 
particulars  of  the  engagement,  narrating  them,  naturally, 
from  a point  of  view  from  which  these  details  would 
prove  that  he,  Kalugin,  was  a very  fine  and  brave  officer ; 
this,  it  seems  to  me,  it  was  superfluous  to  hint  at,  because 
all  knew  that  anyway,  and  had  no  right  and  no  cause  to 
doubt  it,  unless,  perhaps,  the  deceased  Captain  Praskukhin, 
who,  though  he  had  regarded  it  as  a privilege  to  link 
arms  with  Kalugin,  had  only  the  day  before  told  a friend 
of  his  in  secret  that  Kalugin  was  a nice  man,  but  that, 
between  you  and  me,  he  hated  dreadfully  to  go  to  the 
bastions. 


370 


SEVASTOPOL 


371 


Praskukhin,  who  was  walking  abreast  with  Mikhaylov, 
had  just  left  Kalugin,  and  was  beginning  to  revive  a 
little,  as  he  approached  a less  dangerous  spot,  when  he 
saw  a flash  gleaming  brightly  behind  him,  and  heard  the 
shout  of  the  sentry,  “ Mortar ! ” and  the  words  of  one  of 
the  soldiers  walking  behind,  “ It  will  fly  straight  to  the 
bastion  ! ” 

Mikhaylov  looked  back.  The  bright  point  of  the  bomb 
had  just  stopped  in  his  zenith,  when  by  its  position  it  was 
impossible  to  determine  its  direction.  But  this  lasted 
only  a moment : faster  and  faster,  nearer  and  nearer,  so 
that  the  sparks  of  the  fuse  could  be  seen  and  the  fatal 
whistling  could  be  heard,  the  bomb  was  settling  down 
straight  over  the  battalion. 

“ Lie  down,”  cried  somebody’s  voice. 

Mikhaylov  and  Praskukhin  lay  down  on  the  ground. 
Praskukhin  closed  his  eyes  and  only  heard  the  bomb’s 
thud  against  the  hard  earth  near  by.  A second  passed, 
— it  seemed  an  hour,  — and  the  bomb  did  not  explode. 
Praskukhin  was  frightened : had  he  been  cowardly  for 
nothing?  Maybe  the  bomb  had  fallen  some  distance  off, 
and  he  only  imagined  that  the  fuse  was  hissing  near  him. 
He  opened  his  eyes,  and  it  gave  him  pleasure  to  see 
Mikhaylov  lying  near  his  very  feet,  motionless  on  the 
ground.  Just  then  his  eyes  for  a moment  met  the  burn- 
ing fuse  of  the  bomb  spinning  around  within  three  feet 
from  him. 

Cold  terror,  which  excluded  all  other  thoughts  and 
feelings,  — terror  seized  his  whole  being.  He  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands. 

Another  second  passed,  — a second  during  which  the 
whole  world  of  feeling,  thoughts,  hopes,  and  recollections 
flashed  through  his  imagination. 

“ Whom  will  it  kill,  — me  or  Mikhaylov  ? or  both  of 
us  ? And  if  me,  where  will  it  be  ? In  the  head,  — then 
all  is  ended ; but  if  in  the  leg,  they  will  amputate  it,  and 


372 


SEVASTOPOL 


I will  insist  on  their  giving  me  chloroform,  and  I may 
still  live.  And,  maybe,  it  will  kill  only  Mikhaylov : 
then  I will  tell  how  we  walked  abreast,  and  how  I was 
bespattered  by  blood,  when  he  was  killed.  No,  it  is 
nearer  to  me  — I will  be  the  man  ! ” 

Here  he  thought  of  the  twelve  roubles  which  he  was 
owing  Mikhaylov,  and  of  another  debt  in  St.  Petersburg, 
which  he  ought  to  have  paid  long  ago ; the  gipsy  melody 
which  he  had  sung  the  night  before  passed  through  his 
mind.  The  woman  whom  he  had  loved  appeared  before 
his  imagination  in  a cap  with  lilac  ribbons ; he  recalled  a 
man  who  had  insulted  him  five  years  before,  and  whose 
insult  he  had  not  yet  avenged,  — though  inseparably  from 
these  and  from  a thousand  other  recollections,  the  feeling 
of  the  present,  the  expectation  of  death,  did  not  leave  him 
for  an  instant. 

“ Still  it  may  not  burst,”  he  thought,  and,  with  desper- 
ate determination,  wished  to  open  his  eyes.  But  at  this 
moment,  even  while  his  lids  were  closed,  his  eyes  were 
startled  by  a red  fire ; with  a terrible  crash  something 
struck  his  chest ; he  ran,  tripped  over  his  sabre,  which 
was  dangling  between  his  legs,  and  fell  on  his  side. 

“ Thank  God ! I am  only  contused,”  was  his  first 
thought,  and  he  wanted  to  touch  his  breast  with  his 
hands ; but  his  arms  felt  as  though  fettered,  and  his  head 
was  as  if  in  a vise.  In  his  eyes  flashed  the  soldiers,  and 
unconsciously  he  counted  them : “ One,  two,  three,  sol- 
diers ; and  the  one  with  his  overcoat  rolled  under  him  is 
an  officer,”  he  thought.  Then  a lightning  flashed  in  his 
eyes,  and  he  was  wondering  what  it  was  they  were  firing, 
— a mortar  or  a cannon.  Then  they  fired  again ; and 
there  were  more  soldiers : five,  six,  seven  soldiers  passed 
by.  He  was  suddenly  horrified  at  the  thought  that  they 
might  crush  him.  He  wanted  to  cry  out  that  he  was 
bruised ; but  his  mouth  was  so  parched  that  his  tongue 
cleaved  to  the  palate,  and  terrible  thirst  tormented  him. 


SEVASTOPOL 


373 


He  felt  that  it  was  wet  near  his  breast ; this  sensation  of 
wetness  reminded  him  of  water,  and  he  wanted  to  drink 
even  that  which  caused  that  moisture. 

“ I must  have  abrased  the  flesh  as  I fell,”  he  thought, 
and,  beginning  more  and  more  to  succumb  to  the  fear 
that  the  soldiers,  who  continued  flashing  past  him,  would 
crush  him,  he  collected  all  his  strength,  and  wanted  to 
shout,  “ Take  me ! ” But  instead  of  this  he  groaned  so 
terribly  that  he  was  horrified  at  the  sound  he  himself 
made.  Then  some  red  fires  leaped  in  his  eyes, — and  he 
thought  that  the  soldiers  were  putting  rocks  on  him ; the 
fires  leaped  about  ever  less  frequently,  and  the  rocks 
pressed  him  more  and  more.  He  made  an  effort  to  push 
aside  the  rocks,  and  he  no  longer  saw,  nor  heard,  nor 
thought,  nor  felt.  He  had  been  instantly  killed  by  a 
splinter  that  had  struck  his  chest. 


XIII. 


When  Mikhaylov  saw  the  bomb,  he  fell  to  the  ground, 
and  in  the  two  seconds  during  which  the  bomb  lay 
unexploded,  he,  like  Praskukhin,  thought  and  felt  im- 
measurably much.  He  mentally  prayed  to  God,  and 
kept  repeating,  “ Thy  will  be  done ! What  made  me  go 
into  military  service  ? ” and  at  the  same  time  he  thought : 
“ And  there  I have  gone  over  to  the  infantry,  in  order  to 
take  part  in  the  campaign.  Would  it  not  have  been  better 
if  I had  remained  in  the  regiment  of  uhlans  in  the  city 
of  T — — , and  passed  my  time  with  my  friend  Natasha  ? 
And  this  is  what  I have  instead ! ” And  he  began  to 
count : “ One,  two,  three,  four,”  making  up  his  mind  that 
if  it  exploded  on  an  even  number,  he  would  live,  but  if 
on  an  uneven  number,  he  would  be  killed.  “ Everything 
is  ended ; I am  killed,”  he  thought,  when  the  bomb  ex- 
ploded (he  forgot  whether  it  was  on  an  even  or  on  an  uneven 
number),  and  he  felt  a blow  and  a severe  pain  in  his 
head.  “ 0 Lord,  forgive  me  my  sins  ! ” he  said,  swaying 
his  hands,  and  he  rose,  and  fell  down  senseless  on  his 
back. 

His  first  sensation,  when  he  awoke,  was  that  of  blood 
flowing  down  his  nose,  and  a pain  in  his  head,  which  was 
growing  fainter.  “ My  soul  is  departing,”  he  thought, 
“ and  what  will  it  be  there  ? O Lord,  receive  my  soul 
in  peace  ! But  one  thing  is  strange,”  he  reflected ; “ namely, 
that,  dying,  I so  clearly  hear  the  steps  of  the  soldiers,  and 
the  sounds  of  firing.” 


374 


SEVASTOPOL 


375 


“ A stretcher,  ho,  there,  — the  captain  has  been  killed  ! ” 
cried  over  his  head  a voice,  which  he  involuntarily  recog- 
nized as  that  of  his  drummer  Ignatev. 

Somebody  took  him  by  the  shoulders.  He  tried  to 
open  his  eyes,  and  saw  overhead  the  dark-blue  sky, 
groups  of  stars,  and  two  bombs  flying  above  him,  and 
overtaking  each  other ; he  saw  Ignatev,  the  soldiers  with 
the  stretcher  and  their  guns,  the  rampart,  the  trenches, 
and  suddenly  persuaded  himself  that  he  was  not  yet  in 
the  other  world. 

He  was  lightly  wounded  in  the  head  by  a stone.  His 
very  first  impression  was  like  regret : he  had  so  well  and 
so  calmly  prepared  himself  for  his  transition  to  the 
other  world,  that  he  was  unpleasantly  affected  by  his 
return  to  reality,  with  its  bombs,  trenches,  and  blood ; 
his  second  impression  was  an  unconscious  joy  that  he 
was  alive,  and  his  third,  a desire  to  get  away  from  the 
bastion  as  quickly  as  possible.  The  drummer  tied  his 
commander’s  head  with  a handkerchief,  and,  supporting 
him,  led  him  to  the  ambulance. 

“ Whither  am  I going,  and  wherefore  ? ” thought  the 
staff -captain,  when  he  had  collected  his  senses  a little. 
“ My  duty  is  to  stay  with  the  company,  and  not  to  go 
ahead,  the  more  so  since  the  company  will  soon  be  out  of 
the  firing  line,”  a voice  whispered  to  him. 

"It  is  not  necessary,  my  friend,”  he  said,  pulling  his 
arm  away  from  the  obliging  drummer.  “ I am  not  going 
to  the  ambulance ; I will  stay  with  the  company.” 

And  he  turned  back. 

“ Your  Honour,  it  would  be  better  if  you  had  your 
wound  dressed  properly,”  said  Ignatev.  “ In  the  heat  of 
the  moment,  you  may  think  it  of  no  significance ; and  it 
might  get  worse.  And  this  is  such  a hot  place,  — really, 
your  Honour ! ” 

Mikhaylov  hesitated  for  a moment,  and  would  have 
followed  Ignatev’s  advice,  if  he  had  not  suddenly  thought 


376 


SEVASTOPOL 


of  the  many  severely  wounded  at  the  ambulance.  “It 
may  be  the  doctors  will  only  laugh  at  my  scratch,” 
thought  the  staff-captain,  and  resolutely,  in  spite  of  the 
drummer’s  persuasion,  he  went  back  to  his  company. 

“ Where  is  Orderly  Praskukhin,  who  was  walking  with 
me  ? ” he  asked  the  ensign  who  was  leading  the  company 
when  they  met. 

“ I do  not  know  — I think  he  was  killed,”  the  ensign 
replied,  reluctantly. 

“ Killed  or  wounded  ? How  is  it  you  do  not  know  ? 
Was  he  not  going  with  us  ? And  why  did  you  not  take 
him  ? ” 

“ There  was  no  time  for  that,  the  place  was  so  hot ! ” 

“ How  could  you  do  it,  Mikhail  Ivanych  ? ” said 
Mikhaylov,  angrily.  “ How  could  you  abandon  him, 
if  he  was  alive ; and  even  if  he  has  been  killed,  his 
body  ought  to  have  been  taken  along.” 

“ How  can  he  be  alive,  when  T tell  you  that  I went  up 
myself  and  took  a look  at  him  ! ” said  the  ensign.  “ Eeally, 
I am  satisfied  if  I can  get  my  men  away.  Look  at  the 
canaille  ! They  are  now  discharging  cannon-balls  at  us,” 
he  added. 

Mikhaylov  sat  down,  and  clasped  his  head,  which 
began  to  pain  him  terribly  from  the  motion. 

“No,  we  ought  to  go  down  and  fetch  him.  Maybe  he 
is  still  alive,”  said  Mikhaylov.  “ It  is  our  duty,  Mikhail 
Ivanych  ! ” 

Mikhail  Ivanych  made  no  reply. 

“ He  did  not  take  him  at  the  time,  and  now  I must 
send  the  soldiers  by  themselves.  But  how  am  I to  send 
them  ? Under  this  terrible  fire  they  will  only  be  uselessly 
killed,”  thought  Mikhaylov. 

“ Boys  ! We  ought  to  go  back,  and  pick  up  the  officer 
who  lies  wounded  there  in  the  ditch,”  he  said,  neither 
very  loudly,  nor  imperatively,  for  he  felt  that  it  would 
be  disagreeable  for  the  soldiers  to  execute  this  order,  — 


SEVASTOPOL 


377 


and,  indeed,  since  he  did  not  address  any  one  in  particu- 
lar, no  one  stepped  forward  to  carry  it  out. 

“ On  the  other  hand,  he  may  be  dead,  and  then  it  is  not 
worth  while  to  subject  my  men  to  useless  danger ; I am 
the  only  one  to  be  blamed  for  having  neglected  him.  I 
will  go  there  myself,  and  find  out  whether  he  is  alive. 
That  is  my  duty,”  said  Mikhaylov  to  himself. 

“ Mikhail  Ivanych ! you  lead  the  company,  and  I will 
catch  up  with  you/'  he  said,  and,  raising  his  overcoat  with 
one  hand,  and  with  the  other  continually  fingering  the 
image  of  St.  Mitrofani,  in  whom  he  had  special  faith,  he 
ran  at  full  speed  up  the  trench. 

Having  convinced  himself  that  Praskukhin  was  dead, 
Mikhdylov  dragged  himself  back,  breathing  heavily,  and 
holding  with  his  hand  the  loosened  bandage  and  his  head, 
which  now  began  to  pain  him  severely.  The  battalion 
was  already  in  its  place  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  almost 
beyond  the  firing  line,  when  Mikhaylov  caught  up  with 
them.  I say,  almost  beyond  the  firing  line,  because  now 
and  then  a stray  bomb  reached  even  this  place. 

“ To-morrow  I must  go  down  to  the  ambulance  to 
register,”  thought  the  staff-captain,  while  the  surgeon’s 
assistant  was  dressing  his  wound. 


XIV. 


Hundreds  of  blood-stained  bodies  of  men,  who  two 
hours  before  had  been  full  of  all  sorts  of  elevated  and 
petty  hopes  and  desires,  were  now  lying  with  stark  limbs 
on  the  dew-covered,  blooming  valley,  which  separated  the 
bastion  from  the  trench,  and  on  the  even  floor  of  the 
chapel  for  the  dead  in  Sevastopol ; hundreds  of  men, 
with  curses  and  prayers  on  their  parched  lips,  were  creep- 
ing, rolling  around,  and  groaning,  some  between  the 
corpses  in  the  blooming  valley,  others  on  stretchers,  on 
cots,  and  on  the  blood-stained  floor  of  the  ambulance ! 
And  just  as  in  former  days  gleamed  the  morning  glow  over 
Mount  Sapun,  paled  the  twinkling  stars,  rose  a white 
mist  from  the  dark,  roaring  sea,  crimsoned  the  dawn  in 
the  east,  scudded  the  long  purple  cloudlets  along  the 
bright  azure  horizon,  and  just  as  in  former  days  swam 
out  the  mighty,  beautiful  luminary,  portending  joy,  love, 
and  happiness  to  all  living  things. 


XV. 


On  the  following  evening  the  music  of  the  chasseurs 
again  was  playing  in  the  boulevard,  and  again  officers, 
yunkers,  soldiers,  and  young  women  strolled  leisurely 
near  the  pavilion,  and  along  the  lower  avenues  of  bloom- 
ing, fragrant  white  acacias. 

Kalugin,  Prince  Galtsin,  and  a colonel  were  walking 
with  linked  arms  near  the  pavilion,  and  discussing  the 
engagement  of  the  previous  night.  The  guiding  thread 
of  the  conversation  was,  as  it  always  is  in  similar  cases, 
not  the  engagement  itself,  but  the  part  which  each  had 
taken  in  the  engagement.  Their  faces  and  the  sounds  of 
their  voices  were  expressive  of  solemnity,  even  sadness, 
as  though  the  losses  of  the  day  before  powerfully  affected 
and  grieved  them ; but  in  truth,  since  none  of  them  had 
lost  a very  close  friend,  this  expression  of  sadness  was 
merely  of  an  official  nature,  a something  which  they 
regarded  it  as  their  duty  to  evince.  On  the  contrary, 
Kalugin  and  the  colonel  would  have  been  delighted  to 
see  such  an  engagement  every  day,  if  they  could  earn 
every  day  a gold  sabre  and  a major-generalship,  even 
though  they  were  very  nice  people.  I like  to  hear  a 
conqueror,  who,  to  satisfy  his  ambition,  leads  millions  to 
destruction,  called  a monster.  But  get  the  confession  of 
Ensign  Petrushov  and  of  Sub-Lieutenant  Antonov,  and 
so  forth ; every  one  of  them  is  a Napoleon  in  miniature, 
a monster  in  miniature,  and  forthwith  ready  to  start  a 
battle,  to  kill  a hundred  people,  merely  to  get  an  addi- 
tional star,  or  one-third  additional  pay. 

379 


380 


SEVASTOPOL 


“No,  you  must  pardon  me,”  said  the  colonel,  “it  began 
at  first  on  the  left  flank.  I was  there.” 

“ Perhaps,”  replied  Kalugin.  “ I was  chiefly  in  the 
right  flank ; I went  there  twice : once,  to  find  the  gen- 
eral, and  the  second  time,  for  no  special  reason,  just  to 
look  at  the  lodgments.  It  was  a hot  place,  I tell  you.” 

“ I am  sure  Kalugin  knows,”  Prince  Galtsin  said  to  the 

colonel.  “ Do  you  know,  Y told  me  to-day  about 

you.  He  said  you  were  a gallant  officer.” 

“ But  the  losses,  the  losses  were  terrible,”  said  the 
colonel.  “ In  my  regiment  four  hundred  men  were  put 
out  of  action.  I marvel  how  it  is  I got  away  from  there 
alive.” 

Just  then,  at  the  other  end  of  the  boulevard  and 
coming  toward  these  gentlemen,  appeared  the  form  of 
Mikhaylov  with  his  head  bandaged. 

“ Are  you  wounded,  captain  ? ” said  Kalugin. 

“ Yes,  a little,  from  a stone,”  answered  Mikhaylov. 

“ Est-ce  que  le  pavilion  est  baisse  dejh  ? ” asked  Prince 
Gdltsin,  glancing  at  the  staff-captain's  cap,  and  addressing 
no  one  in  particular. 

“ Non , pas  encore  ” replied  Mikhaylov,  wishing  to  show 
that  he  knew  how  to  speak  French. 

“ Are  they  still  having  a truce  ? ” said  Galtsin,  address- 
ing him  in  Russian,  as  much  as  to  say,  so  the  staff- 
captain  thought,  “ It  will,  no  doubt,  be  hard  for  you  to 
speak  French,  so  would  it  not  be  better  to  talk  to  you 
simply  ? ” And,  with  this,  the  adjutants  went  away  from 
him.  The  staff-captain  felt  exceedingly  lonely,  just  as  on 
the  day  before,  and,  exchanging  greetings  with  various 
gentlemen,  — some  he  did  not  care  to  meet,  others  he 
could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  approach,  — sat  down 
near  the  monument  of  Kazarski,  and  lighted  a cigarette. 

Baron  Pest,  too,  came  to  the  boulevard.  He  said  that 
he  had  been  present  at  the  truce,  that  he  had  spoken 
with  some  French  officers,  and  that  one  French  officer  had 


SEVASTOPOL 


381 


said  to  him,  “ If  it  had  been  dark  another  half-hour,  the 
lodgments  would  have  been  retaken,”  and  that  he  had 
answered  him,  “ Monsieur ! I shall  not  deny  it,  in  order 
not  to  accuse  you  of  a falsehood,”  and  how  well  that  was 
said,  and  so  on. 

In  reality,  though  he  had  been  present  at  the  truce,  he 
had  had  no  chance  to  say  there  anything  in  particular, 
no  matter  how  anxious  he  had  been  to  talk  to  the  French 
(for  it  is  so  jolly  to  talk  with  Frenchmen).  Yunker 
Baron  Pest  had  walked  up  and  down  the  line  for  quite 
awhile,  asking  the  Frenchmen  who  were  near  him,  “ Of 
what  regiment  are  you  ? ” to  which  they  answered  him, 
and  that  was  all.  But  when  he  went  a little  too  far  into 
the  line,  a French  sentry,  who  did  not  suspect  that  this 
soldier  knew  any  French,  cursed  him  in  the  third  person : 
“That  accursed  one  is  coming  to  look  at  our  works.” 
Finding  nothing  of  interest  at  the  truce,  Yunker  Baron 
Pest  rode  home,  and  on  his  way  back  thought  out  the 
French  phrases  which  he  was  now  telling.  On  the  boule- 
vard were  also  Captain  Zotov,  who  was  talking  in  a loud 
voice,  and  Captain  Obzhogov,  dishevelled  in  appearance, 
and  an  artillery  captain,  who  did  not  seek  anybody’s 
favour,  and  a yunker,  fortunate  in  love,  and  all  the  per- 
sons of  the  day  before,  and  all  of  them  with  the  same 
eternal  impulses.  There  was  only  lacking  Praskukhin, 
Neferdov,  and  some  others,  whom  hardly  any  one  now 
remembered,  or  thought  of,  though  their  bodies  had  not 
yet  been  washed,  attired,  and  buried  in  the  ground. 


XVI. 


In  our  bastion  and  in  the  French  trench  are  floating 
white  flags,  and  between  them,  in  the  blooming  valley, 
lie  in  heaps,  without  boots,  in  gray  and  blue  uniforms,  the 
disfigured  corpses,  which  workmen  are  carrying  away  and 
placing  on  wagons.  The  odour  of  corpses  fills  the  air. 
From  Sevastopol  and  from  the  French  camp,  masses  of 
people  have  poured  out  to  behold  this  spectacle,  and  with 
eager  and  benign  curiosity  they  rush  toward  each  other. 

Let  us  hear  what  these  people  are  saying  one  to  an- 
other. 

Here,  in  a circle  of  Russians  and  Frenchmen,  who  have 
gathered  around  him,  a youthful  officer,  speaking  poor 
though  intelligible  French,  is  looking  at  a cartridge-box 
of  the  guards. 

“ What  is  this  bird  for  ? ” 

“ Because  it  is  a cartridge-box  of  a regiment  of  the 
guards,  sir,  which  bears  the  imperial  eagle.” 

“ And  are  you  of  the  guards  ? ” 

“ Pardon,  sir,  I am  of  the  sixth  of  the  line.” 

“ And  this  — where  bought  ? ” asks  the  officer,  point- 
ing to  a yellow,  wooden  cigar-holder,  in  which  the  French- 
man is  smoking  a cigarette. 

“At  Balaklava,  sir!  It  is  not  much,  just  of  palm- 
wood.” 

“ Pretty  ! ” says  the  officer,  being  guided  in  his  conver- 
sation, not  so  much  by  his  wishes,  as  by  the  words  which 
Le  chances  to  know. 


382 


SEVASTOPOL 


383 


"If  you  will  have  the  kindness  to  keep  this  as  a 
memento  of  this  meeting,  you  will  oblige  me.” 

And  the  polite  Frenchman  blows  out  the  cigarette,  and 
hands  the  cigar-holder  to  the  officer,  with  a slight  bow. 
The  officer  gives  him  his,  and  all  persons  in  the  group, 
both  Frenchmen  and  Russians,  seem  to  be  very  much 
pleased,  and  smile. 

Then  a dashing  infantryman,  in  pink  shirt,  and  overcoat 
hanging  over  his  shoulders,  in  company  with  other  sol- 
diers, who,  with  their  hands  behind  their  backs,  with 
merry,  curious  faces,  stand  behind  him,  walks  up  to 
a Frenchman,  and  asks  for  a light  for  his  pipe.  The 
Frenchman  takes  a few  puffs,  pokes  his  little  pipe,  and 
pours  some  burning  tobacco  on  the  Russian’s. 

“ Tobacco  boun ,”  says  the  soldier  in  the  pink  shirt,  and 
the  spectators  smile. 

“ Yes,  good  tobacco,  Turkish  tobacco,”  says  the  French- 
man. “ And  with  you,  Russian  tobacco  ? Good  ? ” 

“ Russian  boun  ,”  says  the  soldier  in  the  pink  shirt, 
whereat  the  crowd  roll  with  laughter.  “ French  not 
boun , bon  jour , moussie  ! ” says  the  soldier  in  the  pink 
shirt,  discharging  at  once  his  whole  supply  of  linguistic 
knowledge,  and  tapping  the  Frenchman’s  abdomen,  and 
all  laugh.  The  Frenchmen  laugh,  too. 

“ They  are  no  beauties,  those  stupid  Russians,”  says  a 
zouave  in  the  throng  of  Frenchmen. 

“ What  are  they  laughing  about  ? ” says  another,  a 
swarthy  fellow,  with  an  Italian  pronunciation,  coming  up 
to  our  soldiers. 

“ Caftan  boun'j  says  the  dashing  soldier,  examining  the 
embroidered  coat-skirts  of  the  zouave,  and  again  they 
laugh. 

“ Don’t  walk  out  of  your  line,  back  to  your  places,  sacrS 
nom  /”  shouts  a French  corporal,  and  the  soldiers  disperse 
in  obvious  displeasure. 

And  here,  in  a circle  of  French  officers,  our  young 


384 


SEVASTOPOL 


cavalry  officer  is  making  himself  conspicuous.  They  are 
talking  about  a certain  Count  Sazonov,  “ whom  I used  to 
know  well,  sir,”  says  a French  officer  with  one  epaulet, 
“ he  is  one  of  those  real  Kussian  counts,  such  as  we  love  .” 

“ There  is  a Sazonov,  whom  I used  to  know,”  says  the 
cavalryman,  “ but  he  is  no  count,  so  far  as  I know.  He 
is  a short,  dark-complexioned  man,  about  your  age.” 

“ That’s  it,  sir,  that’s  he.  Oh,  how  I would  like  to  see 
that  dear  count.  If  you  see  him,  please  give  him  my 
regards.  Captain  Latour,”  he  says,  bowing. 

“ Is  not  this  a terrible  business  we  are  in  ? It  was  hot 
work  last  night,  was  it  not  ? ” says  the  cavalryman,  trying 
to  keep  up  the  conversation,  and  pointing  to  the  dead 
bodies. 

“ Oh,  sir,  it  is  terrible  ! But  what  brave  fellows  your 
soldiers  are,  what  brave  fellows ! It  is  a pleasure  to  fight 
with  such  brave  soldiers.” 

“ I must  confess  yours  are  themselves  up  to  snuff,”  says 
the  cavalryman,  bowing,  and  imagining  that  he  is  a really 
clever  fellow. 

Enough  of  that. 

Let  us  rather  look  at  this  ten-year-old  boy,  who,  in  an 
old  cap,  no  doubt  his  father’s,  in  shoes  worn  on  bare  feet, 
and  in  nankeen  trousers,  held  up  by  one  suspender,  had 
gone  beyond  the  rampart  at  the  very  beginning  of  the 
truce,  and  has  all  the  time  been  walking  through 
the  ravine,  looking  with  dull  curiosity  at  the  French  and 
at  the  dead  bodies  lying  on  the  ground,  and  collecting 
wild  blue  flowers,  with  which  this  valley  is  strewn.  On 
his  way  home  with  a large  nosegay,  he,  closing  his  nose 
against  the  odour  which  the  wind  is  wafting  to  him,  stops 
near  a heap  of  piled  up  bodies,  and  for  a long  time  gazes 
at  one  headless  corpse,  which  is  nearest  to  him.  After 
standing  for  awhile,  he  moves  up  and  touches  with  his 
foot  the  outstretched  stiff  arm  of  the  corpse.  The  hand 
shakes  a little.  He  touches  it  a second  time,  a little 


SEVASTOPOL 


385 


more  boldly.  The  hand  shakes  again,  and  stops  in 
the  old  place.  The  boy  suddenly  shrieks,  hides  his 
face  in  the  flowers,  and  runs  away  to  the  fortress  at  full 
speed. 

Yes,  in  the  fortress  and  in  the  trench  float  white  flags ; 
the  blooming  valley  is  filled  with  dead  bodies ; the  fair  sun 
descends  toward  the  blue  sea ; and  the  blue  sea,  billow- 
ing, glitters  under  the  golden  rays  of  the  sun.  Thousands 
of  people  are  crowding,  looking,  talking,  and  smiling  to 
each  other.  And  will  not  these  people,  — these  Christians 
who  profess  one  great  religion  of  love  and  renunciation,  — 
seeing  what  they  have  done,  suddenly  kneel  down  in 
repentance  before  Him  who,  having  given  them  life,  has 
implanted  in  the  soul  of  every  one,  together  with  the  ter- 
ror of  death,  the  love  of  goodness  and  beauty?  And  will 
they  not  embrace  each  other  as  brothers,  with  tears  of  joy 
and  happiness  ? The  white  flags  are  put  away,  and  again 
the  instruments  of  death  and  suffering  shriek,  again  flows 
innocent  blood,  and  are  heard  groans  and  curses. 

I have  said  what  I had  intended  to  say  this  time.  But 
I am  assailed  by  heavy  doubt.  Perhaps  I ought  not  to 
have  said  this ; perhaps  that  which  I have  said  belongs 
to  one  of  those  evil  truths  which,  lurking  unconsciously 
in  each  soul,  ought  not  to  be  proclaimed,  in  order  not  to 
become  noxious,  like  the  dregs  of  wine,  which  must  not 
be  shaken,  lest  it  be  spoiled. 

Where  is  the  expression  of  evil  which  one  must  avoid  ? 
Where  is  the  expression  of  goodness  in  this  narrative 
which  should  be  emulated  ? Who  is  its  villain,  and  who 
its  hero  ? All  are  good,  and  all  are  bad. 

Neither  Kalugin,  with  his  brilliant  bravery,  bravoure  de 
gentilhomme , and  his  vanity,  prime  mover  of  all  his 
actions,  nor  Praskukhin,  an  empty-headed,  harmless  man, 
though  fallen  on  the  field  of  battle  for  his  faith,  his  throne, 
and  his  country,  nor  Mikhaylov,  with  his  bashfulness,  nor 


386 


SEVASTOPOL 


Pest,  a child  without  firm  convictions  and  rules,  can  be 
the  villains  or  the  heroes  of  the  narrative. 

The  hero  of  my  narrative,  whom  I love  with  all  the 
powers  of  my  soul,  whom  I have  endeavoured  to  reproduce 
in  all  his  beauty,  and  who  has  always  been,  who  is,  and 
always  will  be  beautiful,  is  truth. 


IN  AUGUST,  1855 


1. 

Toward  the  end  of  August,  an  officer's  vehicle  (that 
peculiar  vehicle,  not  to  be  met  with  elsewhere,  which 
forms  something  intermediate  between  a Jewish  calash, 
a Eussian  cart,  and  a hamper-wagon)  was  driving  at  a 
walk  through  the  dense,  hot  dust  of  the  Sevastopol  high- 
way, which  runs  through  a ravine  between  Duvanka  and 
Bakhchisardy. 

In  the  front  of  the  vehicle  squatted  an  orderly,  in  a 
nankeen  coat  and  what  had  formerly  been  an  officer's 
cap,  but  now  was  crushed  into  a soft  shape,  pulling  at 
the  reins ; behind,  on  bundles  and  bales  covered  with  a 
soldier's  mantle,  sat  an  infantry  officer  in  a summer 
overcoat.  The  officer  was,  so  far  as  one  could  judge  of 
him  in  his  sitting  posture,  not  very  tall  of  stature,  but 
exceedingly  broad,  and  that  not  so  much  from  shoulder 
to  shoulder,  as  from  his  breast  to  his  back ; he  was  broad 
and  stocky,  and  his  neck  and  nape  were  well  developed 
and  puffed  up.  A waist,  that  is,  a recess  in  the  middle 
of  his  body,  he  did  not  have,  nor  was  there  any  belly ; on 
the  contrary,  he  was  rather  spare,  particularly  in  the  face, 
which  was  covered  by  an  unhealthy  sallow  sunburn.  His 
face  would  have  been  handsome  but  for  a certain  bloated 
appearance  and  the  large  soft  wrinkles,  not  of  old  age, 

887 


388 


SEVASTOPOL 


which  flowed  together  and  magnified  his  features,  and 
gave  the  whole  countenance  an  expression  of  staleness 
and  coarseness.  His  eyes  were  small,  hazel,  exceedingly 
vivacious,  even  bold ; his  moustache  very  thick,  but  not 
broad,  and  gnawed  at  the  ends ; and  his  chin,  and  particu- 
larly his  cheeks,  were  covered  with  an  exceedingly  heavy, 
thick  black  beard  of  two  days'  standing. 

The  officer  had  been  wounded  on  the  10th  of  May  by 
a splinter  in  his  head,  on  which  he  was  still  wearing 
a bandage,  and  now,  having  felt  completely  well  for  a 
week,  he  was  returning  from  the  hospital  at  Simferopol 
to  his  -regiment,  which  was  stationed  somewhere  in  the 
direction  from  which  the  firing  was  heard,  — but  whether 
in  Sevastopol  itself,  on  the  Northern  side,  or  at  Inker  man, 
he  had  not  been  able  to  get  any  reliable  information. 

The  firing  was  heard  very  distinctly,  frequently,  and, 
it  seemed,  very  close,  particularly  whenever  the  moun- 
tains were  not  in  the  way,  or  the  wind  carried  the  sounds. 
Now  it  appeared  as  though  an  explosion  were  shaking 
the  whole  air,  and  causing  him  to  tremble  involuntarily ; 
now  less  loud  sounds  followed  each  other  in  rapid  suc- 
cession, like  the  roll  of  a drum,  interrupted  now  and  then 
by  a sharp  roar ; or  everything  blended  into  crackling 
peals,  resembling  the  thunderclaps,  when  the  storm  is  at 
its  worst,  and  the  rain  has  just  started  down  in  sheets. 
Everybody  was  saying  that  the  bombardment  was  terrible, 
and  so,  indeed,  it  appeared  from  the  sound. 

The  officer  urged  his  orderly  to  drive  faster:  he  evi- 
dently wanted  to  get  there  as  soon  as  possible.  On  the 
way  they  met  a large  caravan  of  Eussian  peasant  carts 
that  had  taken  provision  to  Sevastopol,  and  that  now 
were  returning,  loaded  with  sick  and  wounded  soldiers 
in  gray  overcoats,  sailors  in  black  cloaks,  volunteers 
in  red  fezes,  and  reserve  militiamen  with  beards.  The 
officer’s  vehicle  was  compelled  to  stop  in  the  dense, 
immovable  cloud  of  dust  raised  by  the  caravan,  and  the 


SEVASTOPOL 


389 


officer,  blinking  and  scowling  from  the  dust  which  filled 
his  eyes  and  ears,  glanced  at  the  faces  of  the  sick  and  the 
wounded,  who  were  moving  past  him. 

“ That  feeble  soldier  is  from  our  company,”  said  the 
orderly,  turning  to  his  master,  and  pointing  to  a cart 
filled  with  wounded  men,  which  had  just  come  abreast  of 
them. 

In  the  front  of  the  cart  sat  in  a sideways  posture  a 
long-bearded  Russian,  in  a lambskin  cap.  Holding  the 
butt  of  his  whip  with  his  elbow,  he  was  plaiting  the  lash. 
Behind  him  five  or  six  soldiers  were  jostled  in  all  kinds 
of  attitudes  in  the  bed  of  the  wagon.  One,  with  his  arm 
in  a sling,  with  his  overcoat  thrown  over  his  shirt,  though 
pale  and  haggard,  was  sitting  upright  in  the  middle  of 
the  vehicle ; he  put  his  hand  to  his  cap,  when  he  saw  the 
officer,  but,  evidently  recalling  that  he  was  wounded,  he 
pretended  to  be  scratching  his  head.  Another,  alongside 
him,  was  lying  in  the  bottom  of  the  cart ; all  that  w^as 
visible  were  his  two  hands  with  which  he  held  on  to  the 
rounds  of  the  cart,  and  his  raised  knees  that  swayed  in 
all  directions  like  mops.  The  third,  with  a bloated  face 
and  bandaged  head,  over  which  towered  a soldier-cap, 
was  sitting  toward  one  side,  with  his  feet  dangling  down 
to  the  wheel,  and,  leaning  with  his  arms  on  his  knees, 
seemed  to  be  dozing.  It  was  to  him  that  the  travelling 
officer  directed  his  speech. 

“ Dolzhnikov  ! ” he  cried. 

“ I ! ” answered  the  soldier,  opening  his  eyes  and  doff- 
ing his  cap,  and  speaking  in  a thick  staccato  bass,  as 
though  some  twenty  soldiers  were  shouting  all  at  once. 

“ When  were  you  wounded,  my  friend  ? ” 

The  leaden,  suffused  eyes  of  the  soldier  became  ani- 
mated ; he  had  obviously  recognized  his  officer. 

“ I wish  you  health,  your  Honour ! ” he  uttered;  in  the 
same  staccato  bass. 

“ Where  is  the  regiment  stationed  now  ? ” 


390 


SEVASTOPOL 


“ They  were  standing  in  Sevastopol,  and  they  were  to 
move  on  Wednesday,  your  Honour” 

“ Whither  ? ” 

"I  don't  know  — probably  on  the  Northern  side,  your 
Honour ! To-day,  your  Honour,”  he  added  in  a drawl- 
ing voice,  putting  on  his  cap,  “he  has  begun  to  shoot 
straight  across,  mostly  bombs,  and  they  are  carried  as 
far  as  the  bay ; the  firing  is  awful  to-day,  and  — ” 

Further  it  was  not  possible  to  hear  what  the  soldier 
was  saying ; but  by  his  face  and  pose  one  could  see  thot 
he  was  telling  disheartening  things,  with  the  malice  of 
a suffering  man. 

The  travelling  officer,  Lieutenant  Kozeltsbv,  was  an 
officer  out  of  the  ordinary.  He  was  not  one  of  those 
who  live  so  or  so,  and  do  so  or  so,  because  others  are 
living  and  doing  so;  he  did  everything  which  pleased 
him  best,  and  others  followed  his  example,  and  were 
convinced  that  it  was  good.  He  was  sufficiently  well 
endowed  by  nature  with  small  gifts : he  sang  well,  played 
the  guitar,  spoke  fluently,  and  wrote  with  ease,  particu- 
larly government  documents,  in  which  he  had  acquired 
a facility  while  being  an  adjutant  of  a battalion ; but 
most  noticeable  was  his  trait  of  egoistical  energy,  which, 
though  chiefly  based  on  his  petty  endowments,  was  in 
itself  a well-defined  and  striking  feature.  He  was  pos- 
sessed of  the  egoism,  which  is  so  large  a part  of  life 
itself  (and  which  is  most  frequently  evolved  in  exclu- 
sively masculine,  and  especially  in  military,  circles),  that 
he  could  not  comprehend  any  other  choice  but  to  lead 
or  to  be  annihilated,  and  that  his  egoism  was  even  the 
prime  mover  of  all  his  inward  convictions ; he  naturally 
wanted  to  surpass  all  people  with  whom  he  compared 
himself. 

“ Of  course,  I am  not  going  to  pay  any  attention  to  what 
Moscow1  is  prattling  ! ” muttered  the  lieutenant,  conscious 
JSo  the  common  soldiers  are  called  collectively. 


SEVASTOPOL 


391 


of  a burden  of  apathy  on  his  heart,  and  of  a mistiness  of 
thoughts,  which  were  caused  by  the  aspect  of  the  convoy 
of  the  wounded  and  by  the  soldier's  words,  the  mean- 
ing of  which  was  involuntarily  increased  and  confirmed 
by  the  sounds  of  the  bombardment.  “ Funny  Moscow  ! 
Go,  Nikolaev!  Move  on—  Have  you  fallen  asleep?” 
he  added,  in  a somewhat  angry  voice,  adjusting  the  folds 
of  his  overcoat. 

The  reins  began  to  be  pulled,  Nikolaev  smacked  his 
lips,  and  the  vehicle  started  at  a gallop. 

“ We  will  stop  for  only  a minute  to  feed  them,  and  we 
will  move  on  to-day,”  said  the  officer. 


II 


Just  as  he  was  driving  into  a street  of  Duvanka, 
with  its  demolished  stone  walls  of  Tartar  houses,  Lieu- 
tenant Kozeltsov  was  stopped  by  a convoy  of  bombs  and 
cannon-balls,  on  its  way  to  Sevastopol,  and  crowded 
together  on  the  road. 

Two  infantrymen  were  sitting  in  the  dust  on  the 
stones  of  a ruined  fence,  near  the  road,  and  eating  a 
watermelon  with  bread. 

“ Are  you  going  far,  countryman  ? ” said  one  of  them, 
munching  his  bread,  to  a soldier  with  a small  bag  over 
his  shoulders,  who  had  stopped  near  them. 

“ I am  on  my  way  to  the  company  from  the  provincial 
capital,”  answered  the  soldier,  looking  away  from  the 
melon,  and  adjusting  his  bag  on  his  back.  “We  have 
been  for  nearly  three  weeks  looking  after  the  company’s 
hay,  but  now  they  have  called  everybody  back;  and  it 
is  not  known  in  what  place  the  regiment  is  at  present. 
They  say  that  our  men  last  week  relieved  those  on  the 
Shipwliarf.  Have  you  not  heard,  gentlemen  ? ” 

“ In  the  city,  brother,  in  the  city  it  is  stationed,”  said 
the  other  old  soldier  of  the  baggage-train,  who  was 
digging  with  his  clasp  knife  into  the  unripe,  white 
melon.  “ We  have  just  left  there  at  noon.  It  is  awful 
there,  brother ! ” 

“ How  so,  gentlemen  ? ” 

“ Don’t  you  hear  them  ? They  are  firing  all  around, 
so  that  there  is  not  a place  safe.  It  is  impossible  to  tell 
how  manv  of  our  brothers  they  have  killed ! ” 

392 


SEVASTOPOL 


393 


And  the  speaker  waved  his  hand  and  straightened 
his  cap. 

The  pedestrian  soldier  thoughtfully  shook  his  head, 
smacked  his  tongue,  then  took  out  of  his  boot-leg  a pipe, 
without  filling  it,  poked  the  half-burned  tobacco,  lighted 
a piece  of  punk  with  the  pipe  of  the  soldier  who  was 
smoking,  and  raised  his  cap. 

“ Only  God  can  help  us,  gentlemen  ! Good-bye  ! ” he 
said,  and,  adjusting  the  sack  on  his  back,  walked  up  the 
road. 

“ Ho  there,  wait  a little ! ” persuasively  said  the  one 
who  was  digging  into  the  watermelon. 

“ It's  all  the  same  ! ” mumbled  the  pedestrian,  winding 
his  way  between  the  wheels  of  the  crowding  vehicles. 


III. 


The  station  was  filled  with  people  when  Kozeltsov 
drove  up  to  it.  The  first  person  whom  he  met  on  the 
porch  was  a very  young,  haggard  man,  the  inspector,  who 
kept  exchanging  words  with  two  officers  following  at  his 
heels. 

“ You  will  wait  not  only  three  days,  but  even  ten 
days!  Generals  have  to  wait,  too,  sir!”  said  the  in- 
spector, with  the  desire  to  sting  the  travellers.  “You 
don’t  expect  me  to  harness  myself  for  you ! ” 

“ Then  don’t  give  anybody  any  horses,  if  there  are 
none ! Why  were  they  given  to  a lackey  with  his 
things  ? ” cried  the  older  of  the  two  officers,  with  a glass 
of  tea  in  his  hands,  and  apparently  avoiding  the  use  of 
the  personal  pronoun,  but  letting  him  feel  that  he  could 
have  used  “ thou  ” to  the  inspector  if  he  had  wanted. 

“ Now  you  judge  for  yourself,  Mr.  Inspector,”  said  the 
other,  the  younger  officer,  hesitatingly,  “ we  are  not  travel- 
ling for  our  personal  pleasure.  No  doubt  we  are  wanted, 
if  we  have  been  ordered  out.  If  you  won’t  let  us  have 
them,  I will  write  to  the  general.  But  what  is  this  ? — 
You,  it  seems,  do  not  respect  the  officers’  calling.” 

“You  always  spoil  things!”  the  older  officer  inter- 
rupted him.  “ You  are  only  in  my  way ; one  must  know 
how  to  talk  with  him.  Now  he  has  lost  his  respect  for 
us.  Give  us  horses  this  minute  ! ” I say. 

“ Most  gladly,  sir,  but  where  shall  I get  them  ? ” 

The  inspector  kept  a moment’s  silence,  and  suddenly 
grew  excited,  and,  waving  his  hands,  began  to  speak : 

394 


SEVASTOPOL 


395 


“ I understand  it  all  and  know  it  all,  sir.  But  what 
are  you  going  to  do  ? Give  me  only  ” (the  faces  of  the 
officers  were  lit  up  by  hope)  — “ give  me  only  a chance  to 
live  to  the  end  of  the  month,  and  I will  no  longer  be 
here.  I prefer  to  go  to  Mound  Malakhov,  than  to  stay 
here,  upon  my  word ! Let  them  do  what  they  please. 
In  the  whole  station  there  is  not  one  safe  vehicle,  and  the 
horses  have  not  had  a bunch  of  hay  for  three  days.” 

And  the  inspector  disappeared  through  the  gate. 

Kozeltsov  entered  the  room  at  the  same  time  with  the 
officers. 

“Well,”  the  older  officer  quietly  said  to  the  younger, 
though  but  a second  before  he  had  seemed  to  be  excited, 
“ we  have  been  travelling  for  three  months,  so  we  will 
wait  a little  longer.  No  great  misfortune,  — we  shall  get 
there  early  enough.” 

The  smoky,  dirty  room  was  so  crowded  with  officers 
and  portmanteaus,  that  Kozeltsov  barely  found  a place  on 
the  window  to  sit  down.  Looking  at  the  officers’  coun- 
tenances, and  listening  to  their  conversations,  he  began  to 
roll  a cigarette.  On  the  right  of  the  door,  near  a crooked, 
greasy  table,  on  which  stood  two  samovars  with  the  brass 
turned  green  in  spots,  and  where  pieces  of  sugar  lay  on 
bits  of  paper,  sat  the  chief  group : a young  officer,  without 
moustache,  in  a new  quilted  summer  coat,  was  filling  the 
teapot ; four  officers  of  about  the  same  age  were  scattered 
in  the  different  corners  of  the  room.  One  of  these  slept 
on  the  divan,  having  rolled  up  his  fur  coat  under  his 
head ; another,  who  stood  at  the  table,  was  carving  some 
roast  mutton  for  a one-armed  officer  seated  there.  Two 
officers,  one  of  them  in  an  adjutant’s  overcoat,  the  other 
in  an  infantry  overcoat,  but  one  of  fine  material,  and  with 
his  cartridge-box  slung  over  his  shoulder,  sat  near  the 
oven  bench ; from  the  manner  in  which  both  looked  at 
the  others,  and  in  which  the  one  with  the  cartridge-box 
smoked  his  cigar,  it  was  evident  that  they  were  not  infan- 


396 


SEVASTOPOL 


try  officers  at  the  front,  and  that  they  were  satisfied  with 
this.  It  cannot  be  said  that  their  manner  showed  con- 
tempt, but  a certain  self-satisfied  composure,  based  partly 
on  their  wealth  and  partly  on  their  relations  with  gen- 
erals, — a consciousness  of  superiority,  rising  to  a desire 
to  conceal  it. 

A youthful,  thick-lipped  doctor  and  an  artillery  officer 
with  a German  physiognomy  were  sitting  almost  on  the 
legs  of  the  young  officer  who  was  asleep  on  the  divan, 
and  were  counting  some  money.  Some  four  orderlies 
were  either  dozing,  or  attending  to  portmanteaus  and 
bundles  at  the  door.  Among  all  these  persons,  Kozeltsov 
did  not  find  a single  acquaintance ; but  he  began  atten- 
tively to  listen  to  their  conversations.  He  took  at  once  a 
liking  for  the  young  officers,  who,  as  he  immediately 
decided  from  their  looks,  were  coming  directly  from  the 
corps,  and,  moreover,  they  reminded  him  that  his  brother, 
also  fresh  from  the  corps,  was  to  arrive  in  a few  days  at 
one  of  the  batteries  of  Sevastopol.  But  in  the  officer  with 
the  cartridge-box,  whose  face  he  had  seen  somewhere, 
everything  seemed  to  him  disgusting  and  impudent.  He 
even  left  the  window  with  the  thought,  "I  will  settle 
him,  if  he  tries  to  say  anything,”  and  sat  down  on  the 
oven  bench.  Being  simply  a good  officer  at  the  front,  he 
could  not,  as  a general  rule,  bear  any  officers  of  the  staff, 
such  as  he  judged  at  first  glance  those  two  to  be. 


IV. 


“ But  this  is  dreadfully  annoying,”  said  one  of  the  young 
officers,  “ to  be  so  near,  and  yet  not  to  be  able  to  reach  it. 
There  may  be  an  engagement  to-day,  and  we  shall  not 
be  there.,, 

In  the  piping  tone  of  the  voice,  and  in  the  fresh, 
spotted  blush  which  covered  the  face  of  the  officer  while 
he  was  speaking,  one  could  see  the  refreshing,  youthful 
bashfulness  of  a man  who  is  all  the  time  afraid  that  his 
words  are  not  properly  chosen. 

The  armless  officer  looked  at  him  with  a smile. 

“ You  will  get  there  in  plenty  time,  believe  me,”  he 
said. 

The  young  officer  looked  respectfully  at  the  haggard 
face  of  the  armless  man,  which  was  unexpectedly  bright- 
ened by  a smile,  and  he  grew  silent  and  busied  himself 
with  the  tea.  Indeed,  in  the  face  of  the  one-armed 
officer,  in  his  attitude,  and  especially  in  the  empty  sleeve 
of  his  overcoat,  was  expressed  much  of  that  calm  equa- 
nimity which  could  be  explained  by  the  assumption  that 
in  every  affair  and  conversation  he  looked  as  though  say- 
ing, “ All  this  is  very  beautiful,  all  this  I know,  and  all 
this  I could  do  myself  if  I wanted  to.” 

“ What,  then,  is  our  decision  ? ” again  said  the  young 
officer  to  his  companion  in  the  quilted  coat,  “ shall  we 
remain  here  overnight  or  shall  we  continue  travelling 
with  our  horse  ? ” 

His  companion  refused  to  continue  the  journey. 

“ Just  think  of  it,  captain,”  continued  the  one  who  was 
397 


398 


SEVASTOPOL 


pouring  out  the  tea,  turning  to  the  armless  officer,  and 
lifting  up  the  knife  which  he  had  dropped,  “ they  told  us 
that  horses  were  dreadfully  expensive  at  Sevastopol,  and 
so  we  bought  a horse  in  partnership  at  Simferopol.” 

“ I suppose  they  have  fleeced  you  for  it  ? ” 

“ Eeally,  I do  not  know,  captain.  We  paid  for  the  horse 
and  vehicle  ninety  roubles.  Is  that  very  dear  ? ” he  added, 
turning  to  everybody  in  general  and  in  particular  to 
Kozeltsov,  who  was  watching  him. 

“ Ho,  not  dear,  if  it  is  a young  horse,”  said  Kozeltsov. 

“ You  see ! And  they  told  us  that  it  was  too  dear  — 
Ho  is  a little  lame  now,  but  that  will  pass.  We  were 
told  that  he  was  a strong  horse.” 

“ You  are  from  what  corps  ?”  asked  Kozeltsov,  wishing 
to  find  out  something  about  his  brother. 

“ We  are  from  the  yeomen’s  regiment,  — there  are  six 
of  us,  and  we  are  all  bound  for  Sevastopol,  at  our  own 
request,”  said  the  talkative  young  officer.  “ The  trouble 
is,  we  do  not  know  where  our  batteries  are ; some  say,  at 
Sevastopol,  and  others  again  say,  at  Odessa.” 

“ Could  you  not  have  found  out  at  Simferopol  ? ” asked 
Kozeltsov. 

“ They  did  not  know  — Let  me  tell  you,  our  comrade 
went  there  to  the  chancery ; they  told  him  a lot  of  rude 
things  — you  can  imagine  how  disagreeable  that  is  — 
Would  you  wish  a cigarette  all  rolled  up  ?”  he  said  to  the 
armless  officer,  who  was  on  the  point  of  getting  out  his 
cigarette-holder. 

He  was  attentive  to  him  with  a certain  servile  enthu- 
siasm. 

“ Are  you  yourself  from  Sevastopol  ? ” he  continued. 
“ 0 Lord,  how  wonderful  all  this  is ! In  St.  Petersburg 
we  have  been  thinking  of  you,  of  all  the  heroes !”  he  said, 
turning  to  Kozeltsov  with  respect  and  kindliness. 

"Well,  so  you  may  have  to  journey  back  again?” 
asked  the  ensign. 


SEVASTOPOL 


399 


“That  is  what  we  are  afraid  of.  You  may  imagine: 
we  have  bought  a horse,  and  have  provided  ourselves 
with  all  necessaries,  — a coffee-pot  with  a spirit-lamp,  and 
other  necessary  trifles,  — and  now  we  have  no  money  left,” 
he  said  in  a quiet  voice,  looking  back  at  his  companion, 
“ so  that,  if  we  have  to  journey  back,  we  do  not  know 
what  to  do.” 

“ Did  you  not  get  any  travelling  money  ? ” asked  Kozel- 
tsov. 

“ No,”  he  answered  in  a whisper,  “ but  we  were  promised 
that  we  should  get  it  here.” 

“ Have  you  any  certificate  to  that  effect  ? 99 

“I  know  that  the  certificate  is  the  main  thing,  but 
there  is  a senator  in  Moscow,  he  is  an  uncle  of  mine,  — 
and  when  I called  at  his  house,  he  assured  me  that 
they  would  give  it  to  me  here,  or  else  I should  have 
taken  some  from  him.  Will  they  give  it  ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“I  myself  think  they  will,”  he  said,  in  a tone  which 
proved  that,  having  asked  the  same  thing  at  thirty  sta- 
tions, and  having  received  all  kinds  of  answers,  he  no 
longer  had  any  full  confidence  in  anybody’s  statement. 


V. 


“ Who  has  asked  for  beet-soup  ? ” demanded  the  slovenly 
landlady,  a woman  about  forty  years  of  age,  entering  the 
room  with  a soup-bowl. 

The  conversation  stopped  at  once,  and  all  the  persons 
in  the  room  gazed  at  the  landlady.  One  officer  even 
winked  to  another. 

“ Oh,  Kozeltsov  asked  for  it,”  said  the  young  officer. 
“ We  must  wake  him.  Get  up  and  eat!”  he  said,  going 
up  to  the  one  who  was  sleeping  on  the  divan,  and  pushing 
him  by  the  shoulder. 

A boy,  seventeen  years  of  age,  with  vivacious  black 
eyes  and  a blush  covering  his  whole  cheek,  sprang  up 
energetically  from  the  divan,  and,  rubbing  his  eyes, 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

“ Oh,  pardon  me,”  he  said  to  the  doctor,  whom  he  had 
pushed  in  rising. 

Lieutenant  Kozeltsov  at  once  recognized  his  brother, 
and  went  up  to  him. 

“ Do  you  not  know  me  ? ” he  said,  smiling. 

“ Ah,  ah,  ah ! ” cried  the  younger  brother,  beginning  to 
kiss  his  brother,  “ now  that  is  remarkable ! ” 

They  kissed  three  times,  but  hesitated  on  the  third 
time,  as  though  both  were  struck  by  the  idea,  “Why 
exactly  three  times  ? ” 

“ Oh,  how  glad  I am!”  said  the  elder,  gazing  at  his 
brother.  “ Let  us  go  out  on  the  porch  and  talk  ! ” 

“ Come,  come  ! I do  not  want  any  soup — You  eat  it, 
F&lerson !”  he  said  to  his  companion. 

400 


SEVASTOPOL 


403 


“ But  you  wanted  to  eat.” 

“ I do  not  want  anything.” 

When  they  had  gone  out  on  the  porch,  the  younger 
brother  kept  asking,  “ Well,  tell  me  how  you  are,”  and 
kept  on  saying  how  glad  he  was  to  see  him,  but  did  not 
tell  anything  about  himself. 

“ I want  to  get  back  to  Sevastopol  as  soon  as  possible : 
if  one  has  luck,  one  can  advance  here  faster  than  in  the 
guards.  There  it  takes  ten  years  to  become  a colonel,  and 
here  Totleben  was  promoted  in  two  years  from  lieutenant- 
colonel  to  general.  And  if  I am  killed,  well,  what’s  to 
be  done  ? ” 

“ That’s  the  kind  of  fellow  you  are ! ” said  his  brother, 
smiling. 

“ Beally,  do  you  know,  brother  ? ” said  the  younger, 
smiling  and  blushing,  as  though  getting  ready  to  say 
something  disgraceful.  “All  this  is  nothing.  The  chief 
reason  why*  I asked  to  be  sent  down  here  is,  I was 
ashamed  to  stay  in  St.  Petersburg,  while  here  men  are 
dying  for  their  country.  And,  then,  I wanted  to  be  with 
you,”  he  added,  more  bashfully  still. 

“ How  funny  you  are  ! ” said  the  elder  brother,  drawing 
out  his  cigarette-holder,  and  without  looking  at  him. 
“ What  a pity,  we  shall  not  be  together.” 

“ Now,  tell  me  truthfully,  is  it  terrible  in  the  bastions  ? 99 
suddenly  asked  the  younger. 

“ At  first  it  is  terrible,  then  you  get  used  to  it,  and  it 
is  all  right.  You  will  see  for  yourself.” 

“ Now  tell  me  this : will  they  take  Sevastopol  ? I 
think  they  never  will.” 

“ God  knows.” 

“ Here  is  an  annoyance  — Just  think  of  my  bad  luck ! 
On  the  road  they  stole  a whole  bundle,  and  my  hat  was 
in  it,  so  that  I am  now  in  a terrible  fix,  and  do  not  know 
how  to  make  my  appearance.” 

Kozeltsov  the  second,  Vladimir,  very  much  resembled 


402 


SEVASTOPOL 


his  brother  Mikhaylo,  just  as  a blooming  rose-bush  re- 
sembles a defloured  brier.  His  hair,  too,  was  blond,  but 
thick  and  curling  over  the  temples.  On  his  white,  tender 
nape  there  was  a small  blond  lock  — a sign  of  good  for- 
tune,  as  the  nurses  say.  On  the  tender  white  skin  of  his 
cheeks  did  not  dwell,  but  burst  forth,  a full-blooded,  youth- 
ful blush,  betraying  all  the  movements  of  his  soul.  His 
eyes,  although  like  his  brother’s,  were  opener  and  brighter, 
which  was  the  more  apparent  because  they  were  covered 
by  a light  film  of  moisture.  A blond  down  was  sprouting 
on  his  cheeks  and  over  his  red  lips  that  folded  themselves 
into  a bashful  smile,  or  displayed  his  white,  shining  teeth. 
Stately,  broad-shouldered,  in  his  unbuttoned  overcoat, 
underneath  which  could  be  seen  a red  shirt  with  a slant- 
ing collar,  with  a cigarette  in  his  hand,  leaning  against 
the  balustrade  of  the  porch,  with  a naive  joy  expressed 
in  his  face  and  gestures,  he  was  such  a charming  boy,  as 
he  stood  before  his  brother,  that  he  could  stand  there  and 
look  at  him  for  a long  time. 

He  was  very  happy  to  see  his  brother,  and  looked  at 
him  with  respect  and  pride,  thinking  of  him  as  a hero ; 
but  in  some  respects,  namely,  in  worldly  knowledge,  in 
the  ability  of  speaking  French,  and  of  being  in  the  society 
of  distinguished  people,  of  dancing,  and  so  forth,  he  was 
a little  ashamed  of  him,  looked  down  upon  him,  and  even 
hoped  to  be  able  to  educate  him.  All  his  impressions 
were  fresh  from  St.  Petersburg,  from  the  house  of  a lady 
who  was  fond  of  good-looking  fellows,  and  who  had  had 
him  at  her  house  during  the  holidays,  and  from  the  house 
of  the  Moscow  senator,  where  he  had  once  danced  at  a 
great  ball. 


VI 


Having  talked  their  fill,  and  having  finally  reached  a 
feeling,  frequently  experienced,  that  there  was  little  in 
common  between  them,  even  though  they  loved  each 
other,  the  brothers  remained  silent  for  quite  awhile. 

“ Take  your  things,  and  we  will  start  at  once/'  said  the 
elder  brother. 

The  younger  suddenly  blushed,  and  was  ill  at  ease. 

“ Straight  to  Sevastopol  ? ” he  asked,  after  a moment^ 
silence. 

“ Why,  yes.  You  have  not  many  things ; I suppose 
we  can  manage  them.” 

“ Very  well ! We  will  start  at  once,”  said  the  younger, 
with  a sigh,  and  entered  the  room. 

But,  before  opening  the  door,  he  stopped  in  the  vesti- 
bule, gloomily  hung  his  head,  and  began  to  think : 

“ At  once  straight  to  Sevastopol,  under  the  bombs  — 
terrible ! However,  it  is  all  the  same ; sooner  or  later 
it  would  have  to  be.  Now,  at  least,  it  will  be  with 
brother  — ” 

The  trouble  was  that  only  now,  at  the  thought  that, 
after  seating  himself  in  the  vehicle,  he  would  not  get  out 
of  it  until  he  found  himself  in  Sevastopol,  and  that  no 
accident  whatsoever  could  detain  him,  did  he  form  for 
the  first  time  a clear  conception  of  the  danger  which  he 
was  seeking,  and  he  was  disturbed  in  mind  at  the  mere 
thought  of  its  nearness.  Having  calmed  himself  a little, 
he  entered  the  room ; but  fifteen  minutes  passed,  and  he 
had  not  yet  come  out  to  his  brother,  so  that  the  latter 

403 


404 


SEVASTOPOL 


finally  opened  the  door,  in  order  to  call  him.  The  younger 
Kozeltsov,  in  the  attitude  of  a guilty  schoolboy,  was  speak- 
ing about  something  to  Officer  P When  the  brother 

opened  the  door,  he  looked  completely  lost. 

“ Directly,  directly ! ” he  said,  waving  his  hand  to  his 
brother.  “ Wait  there  a moment,  if  you  please.” 

A minute  later  he  came  out,  and  went  up  to  his  brother 
with  a deep  sigh. 

“ Just  think  of  it,  I cannot  journey  with  you,  brother,” 
he  said. 

“ How  is  that  ? What  nonsense  ! ” 

“ I will  tell  you  the  whole  truth,  Misha!  We  are  all 
out  of  money,  and  we  all  owe  some  to  that  staff -captain 
whom  you  have  seen  in  there.  It  is  a perfect  shame  ! ” 

The  elder  brother  frowned,  and  for  a long  time  did  not 
break  the  silence. 

“ Do  you  owe  much  ? ” he  asked,  looking  at  his 
brother  with  a scowl. 

“Not  much,  not  very  much;  but  it  makes  me  feel 
ashamed.  He  has  paid  for  me  at  three  stations,  and  it 
was  all  the  time  his  sugar  we  have  been  using  — so  that 
I do  not  know  — and  we  have  been  playing  at  preference 
— I am  indebted  to  him  a little.” 

“That  is  bad,  Volodya  ! What  would  you  have  done, 
if  you  had  not  met  me  ? ” the  elder  brother  said,  sternly, 
without  looking  at  him. 

“ Well,  I thought  I should  get  the  travelling  money  at 
Sevastopol,  and  so  I should  pay  him  there.  I certainly 
can  fix  it  that  way ; and  so  it  will  be  better  if  I journey 
with  him  to-morrow.” 

The  elder  brother  drew  out  his  purse,  and  with  a cer- 
tain quivering  in  his  fingers,  took  out  from  it  two  ten- 
rouble  and  one  three-rouble  bills. 

“ Here  is  all  my  money,”  he  said.  “ How  much  do 
you  owe  ? ” 

When  Kozeltsov  said  that  this  was  all  his  money,  he 


SEVASTOPOL 


405 


was  not  telling  the  whole  truth  ; he  had  besides  four 
gold  coins  sewn  into  the  lining  of  the  coat  against  an 
evil  day,  but  he  had  vowed  that  he  would  never  touch 
them. 

It  turned  out  that  Kozeltsov  owed  in  all,  for  the  pref- 
erence and  for  the  sugar,  eight  roubles.  The  elder 
brother  gave  him  the  money,  remarking  at  the  same 
time  that  it  would  not  do  to  act  that  way,  and  especially 
to  play  at  preference. 

“ What  did  you  play  for  ? ” 

The  younger  brother  did  not  answer  a word.  His 
brother's  question  appeared  to  him  as  a doubt  of  his 
honesty.  His  annoyance  with  himself,  his  shame  of 
his  action,  which  had  given  rise  to  such  suspicions,  and 
the  insult  from  his  brother,  whom  he  loved  so,  produced 
on  his  impressionable  nature  such  a strong  and  morbid 
sensation,  that  he  did  not  make  any  reply.  Feeling  that 
he  would  not  be  able  to  keep  back  the  tearful  sounds 
which  were  rising  in  his  throat,  he  took  the  money,  with- 
out looking  at  it,  and  went  in  to  his  companions. 


VII. 


Nikolaev,  who  in  Duvanka  fortified  himself  with  two 
swallows  of  brandy,  purchased  from  a soldier  selling  it 
on  the  bridge,  jerked  the  reins ; the  vehicle  jolted  over 
the  rocky  and  occasionally  shaded  road  which  led  along 
the  Belbek  to  Sevastopol,  and  the  brothers,  whose  legs 
were  continually  striking  against  each  other,  kept  a stub- 
born silence,  though  they  were  all  the  time  thinking  one 
of  the  other. 

“ Why  did  he  offend  me  ? ” thought  the  younger.  “ He 
might  have  passed  it  over  in  silence.  He  acted  as  though 
he  took  me  for  a thief,  and  he  seems  to  be  angry  even 
now,  so  that  our  relations  will  for  ever  be  strained.  And 
how  glorious  it  could  otherwise  be  for  both  of  us  at  Sevas- 
topol ! Two  brothers,  friendly  to  each  other,  are  both 
fighting  against  the  enemy  : the  elder  brother,  though  not 
a very  well  educated  man,  is  already  a brave  soldier,  and 
the  younger  — well,  he  is  a valiant  fellow  himself  — 
In  a week  I should  prove  to  everybody’s  satisfaction  that 
I am  no  longer  so  very  young  ! I will  quit  blushing ; in 
my  face  will  be  expressed  bravery ; and  by  that  time  my 
moustache,  though  not  very  long,  will  be  of  considerable 
size,”  and  he  pulled  the  down  which  had  appeared  at  the 
edges  of  his  mouth. 

“ Maybe  we  shall  arrive  to-day  to  take  part  at  once  in 
an  engagement,  both  my  brother  and  I.  He  must  be 
stubborn  and  brave,  one  of  those  who  do  not  talk  much, 
but  act  better  than  others.  I should  'like  to  know,”  he 
continued,  “ whether  he  is  jamming  me  into  the  edge  of 

406 


SEVASTOPOL 


407 


the  vehicle  on  purpose,  or  not.  He,  no  doubt,  feels  that 
I am  ill  at  ease,  and  looks  ag  though  he  did  not  notice 
me.  We  shall  arrive  to-day,”  he  continued  his  reflections, 
keeping  to  the  edge  of  the  vehicle,  and  fearing  to  move, 
lest  his  brother  should  notice  that  he  was  ill  at  ease, 
“ and  we  shall  make  at  once  for  the  bastion ; I at  the 
guns,  and  my  brother  with  his  company,  and  we  shall 
march  together.  Suddenly  the  French  will  rush  upon 
us.  I — to  shoot,  and  shoot.  I will  kill  a lot  of  them  ; 
but  they  continue  to  press  forward.  There  is  no  chance 
of  firing,  and,  of  course,  there  is  no  salvation  for  me ; but 
suddenly  brother  will  dash  ahead,  with  sabre  in  hand, 
and  I will  seize  a gun,  and  the  soldiers  will  run  with  us. 
The  French  will  rush  up  to  brother.  I will  run  up,  will 
kill  one  Frenchman  and  another,  and  will  save  brother. 
I shall  be  wounded  in  one  arm,  so  will  seize  the  gun  with 
the  other,  and  will  still  run  forward,  Only  brother  will 
be  killed  by  a bullet  at  my  side ; I will  stop  for  an 
instant,  will  look  sadly  at  him,  will  rise  to  my  feet,  and 
will  shout : ‘ After  me ! Let  us  avenge  his  death ! I 
have  loved  my  brother  more  than  anybody  in  this  world/ 
I will  say, 4 and  I have  lost  him.  Revenge ! Let  us  anni- 
hilate the  foe,  or  die  all  together ! ’ 

“All  will  shout,  and  will  plunge  forward  after  me. 
The  whole  French  army  will  come  out,  and  Pelissier 
himself.  We  will  destroy  them  all ; but  I am  wounded 
a second,  and  a third  time,  and  I shall  fall  down  to  my 
death.  Then  everybody  will  run  up  to  me.  Gorchakov 
will  come,  and  will  ask  me  what  I wish.  I will  say  that 
I have  no  other  wish  than  to  be  placed  by  my  brother’s 
side,  and  that  I want  to  die  with  him.  I shall  be  carried 
and  put  down  near  the  blood-stained  body  of  my  brother. 
I will  lift  myself  a little,  and  say : ‘ Yes,  you  were  unable 
properly  to  estimate  the  two  men  who  have  sincerely 
loved  their  country;  now  they  have  both  fallen  — may 
God  forgive  you ! ’ and  I shall  expire.” 


408 


SEVASTOPOL 


Who  knows  to  what  extent  these  dreams  might  be 
realized ! 

" Have  you  ever  been  in  a hand-to-hand  encounter  ? 99 
he  suddenly  asked  his  brother,  forgetful  of  the  fact  that 
he  had  intended  not  to  speak  to  him. 

“ No,  not  once,”  answered  the  elder  brother.  “ In  our 
regiment  two  thousand  men  were  put  out  of  action  while 
at  work,  and  I,  too,  was  wounded  while  at  work.  War 
does  not  take  place  at  all  as  you  imagine  it,  Volodya ! ” 

The  word  “ Volodya”  touched  the  younger  brother: 
he  wanted  to  have  an  explanation  from  his  brother,  who 
did  not  have  the  slightest  idea  that  he  had  offended 
Volodya. 

“ You  are  not  angry  at  me,  Misha  ? ” he  asked,  after  a 
moment's  silence. 

“ For  what  ?” 

“ No,  nothing  — that  there  has  been  — oh,  nothing.” 

“Not  in  the  least,”  answered  the  elder  brother,  turning 
to  him,  and  slapping  his  leg. 

“ Then  you  must  forgive  me,  Misha,  if  I have  given 
you  cause  for  grief.” 

And  the  younger  brother  turned  away,  in  order  to  con- 
ceal the  tears  that  suddenly  had  appeared  in  his  eyes. 


VIII. 


“ Is  it  possible  this  is  Sevastopol  already  ? ” asked  the 
younger  brother,  as  the  vehicle  reached  the  top  of  a hill. 

Before  them  lay  the  bay  with  the  masts  of  ships,  the 
sea  with  the  hostile  fleet  in  the  distance,  the  white  shore 
batteries,  the  barracks,  the  water-works,  the  docks,  the 
city  buildings,  and  the  pale  violet  clouds  of  smoke,  which 
were  continually  rising  along  the  yellow  hills  that  sur- 
rounded the  city,  and  that  stood  out  against  the  blue  sky, 
in  the  rosy  beams  of  the  sun,  which  now  was  brilliantly 
reflected  and  setting  at  the  horizon  of  the  dark  sea. 

Volodya  beheld  without  shuddering  the  terrible  place 
of  which  he  had  been  thinking  so  much.  On  the  contrary, 
with  aesthetic  enjoyment  and  with  a heroic  sensation  of 
self-satisfaction,  that  in  half  an  hour  he  himself  would  be 
there,  he  gazed  at  this  truly  enchanting  and  original 
spectacle,  and  he  continued  gazing  at  it  up  to  the  very 
time  when  they  arrived  at  the  Northern  side,  at  the 
baggage-train  of  his  brother’s  regiment,  where  they  were 
to  get  definite  information  as  to  the  location  of  the 
regiment  and  battery. 

The  officer  in  charge  of  the  baggage-train  was  living 
near  the  so-called  new  town,  — a collection  of  frame 
barracks,  built  by  sailor  families,  — in  a tent  which  was 
connected  with  a fairly  large  booth,  constructed  of  green 
oak  boughs  that  had  not  yet  become  sufficiently  dry. 

The  brothers  found  the  officer  at  a dirty  table,  on  which 
stood  a glass  of  cold  tea,  a salver  with  brandy  and  crumbs 
of  dry  caviar  and  bread,  clad  in  a soiled  yellow  shirt, 

409 


410 


SEVASTOPOL 


counting  up  on  a large  abacus  an  immense  heap  of  paper 
money.  But  before  saying  anything  about  the  personality 
of  the  officer  and  his  conversation,  we  must  take  a closer 
look  at  the  interior  of  his  booth,  and  get  a little  acquainted 
with  his  manner  of  life  and  occupations. 

The  new  booth  was  large,  firmly  plaited,  and  comfort- 
ably constructed;  it  was  provided  with  little  tables  and 
sod  benches,  and  was  altogether  such  as  are  built  only 
for  generals  or  regimental  commanders.  The  sides  and 
the  ceiling  were  protected  from  the  falling  leaves  by  three 
rugs  which,  though  of  atrocious  designs,  were  new  and, 
no  doubt,  expensive.  On  an  iron  bed  underneath  the 
main  rug,  with  the  representation  of  a horsewoman  upon 
it,  lay  a bright  red  plush  coverlet,  a soiled  torn  pillow, 
and  a raccoon  fur  coat ; on  the  table  stood  a looking-glass 
in  a silver  frame,  a terribly  dirty  silver  hairbrush,  a broken 
horn  comb  full  of  greasy  hair,  a silver  candlestick,  a bottle 
of  liqueur  with  an  immense  label  in  red  and  gold,  a gilded 
clock  with  the  portrait  of  Peter  the  Great,  two  gold  pens, 
a box  with  some  kind  of  capsules,  a bread  crust,  and  old 
cards  lying  in  a heap,  while  under  the  bed  stood  empty 
and  full  bottles. 

This  officer  was  in  charge  of  the  regiment's  baggage 
and  of  the  provender  for  the  horses.  With  him  lived  his 
great  friend,  a commissionaire,  who  was  interested  in 
some  speculations.  As  the  brothers  entered,  he  was 
asleep  in  the  tent,  while  the  officer  of  the  baggage-train 
was  counting  up  the  Crown  money  before  the  end  of  the 
month.  The  exterior  of  this  officer  was  handsome  and 
martial : he  was  tall,  wore  a long  moustache,  and  was  of 
noble  proportions.  His  disagreeable  points  were  a certain 
sweaty  and  bloated  condition  of  his  face,  which  almost 
concealed  his  small  gray  eyes  (as  though  he  were  saturated 
with  porter),  and  an  extraordinary  neglect  of  his  person, 
from  his  greasv  hair  down  to  his  large  bare  feet  in  ermine- 
fur  slippers. 


SEVASTOPOL 


411 


“ What  a lot  of  money ! What  a lot  of  it ! ” said 
Kozeltsov  the  elder,  upon  entering  the  booth,  and  with 
involuntary  greed  directing  his  eyes  upon  the  heap  of 
bills.  “ If  you  lent  me  only  one-half  of  it,  Vasili  Mikhay- 
lovich ! ” 

The  officer  stooped  a little,  as  he  noticed  the  new- 
comers, and,  collecting  his  money,  bowed,  without  rising. 

“ Ah,  if  it  all  were  mine  ! But  it  is  Crown  money,  my 
friend  — Who  is  this  with  you  ? ” he  said,  putting  the 
money  in  a small  safe  which  was  standing  near  him,  and 
eyeing  Volddya. 

“ That  is  my  brother,  who  has  come  from  the  corps. 
We  have  called  here  to  find  out  where  the  regiment  is 
stationed/’ 

“ Sit  down,  gentlemen ! ” he  said,  rising,  and  walking 
into  the  tent,  without  paying  any  further  attention  to  the 
guests.  “ Won’t  you  have  a drink,  say  a little  porter?” 
he  said. 

“ It  won’t  hurt,  Vasili  Mikhaylovich  ! ” 

Volodya  was  impressed  by  the  magnificence  of  the 
officer  of  the  baggage-train,  by  his  nonchalant  manner, 
and  by  the  respect  with  which  his  brother  spoke  to  him. 

“ He  must  be  a very  good  officer,  whom  all  respect : no 
doubt  he  is  simple,  but  hospitable  and  brave,”  he  thought, 
modestly  and  timidly  sitting  down  on  the  divan. 

“ Where,  then,  is  our  regiment  stationed  ? ” the  elder 
brother  asked  across  the  tent. 

- What  ? ” 

He  repeated  his  question. 

“ Zeyfer  was  here  to-day : he  told  me  they  had  gone 
to  the  fifth  bastion.” 

“ Sure  ? ” 

“If  I tell  you  so,  it  must  be  correct;  however,  the 
devil  take  him  ! It  would  not  be  much  for  him  to  tell 
a lie.  Well,  will  you  have  some  porter?”  said  the  officer, 
still  staying  in  his  tent. 


412 


SEVASTOPOL 


“ Very  well,  I will  take  a drink,”  said  Kozeltsdv. 

“ And  will  you  have  a glass,  Osip  Ignatevich  ? ” con- 
tinued the  voice  in  the  tent,  evidently  addressing  the 
sleeping  commissionaire.  “ Get  up : it  is  now  nearly  five 
o’clock.” 

" Don’t  bother  me  ! I am  not  sleeping,”  replied*a  thin, 
lazy  voice. 

“ Well,  get  up  anyway : it  is  dull  without  you  ! ” 

The  officer  of  the  baggage-train  came  back  to  his  guests. 

“ Let  us  have  some  Simferopol  porter ! ” he  shouted. 

An  orderly,  with  a proud  expression  on  his  face,  so 
Volodya  thought,  entered  the  booth,  and,  pushing  Volodya 
aside,  fetched  a bottle  of  porter  from  underneath  the  bench. 

The  bottle  was  soon  emptied,  and  the  conversation  was 
for  some  time  continued  in  the  same  strain,  when  the 
folds  of  the  tent  were  pushed  aside,  and  from  it  emerged 
a short,  well-preserved  man,  in  a blue  dressing-gown  writh 
tassels,  in  a cap  wTith  a red  border  and  a cockade.  Upon 
his  appearance  he  was  smoothing  down  his  moustache; 
gazing  at  some  point  in  the  rug,  he  returned  the  salute 
of  the  officers  with  a barely  perceptible  shrug  of  his 
shoulders. 

“ I will  take  a glass  myself ! ” he  said,  sitting  down  at 
the  table.  “ Are  you  coming  from  St.  Petersburg,  young 
man?”  he  said,  graciously  addressing  Volodya. 

“ Yes,  sir,  I am  on  my  way  to  Sevastopol.” 

“ Did  you  volunteer  ? ” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ What  is  it  that  makes  you  so  anxious,  gentlemen  ? 
Really,  I do  not  understand  it ! ” continued  the  commis- 
sionaire. “ It  seems  to  me  I would  be  willing  to  walk 
back  to  St.  Petersburg,  if  they  would  only  let  me.  I am 
tired  of  this  accursed  life,  upon  my  word  ! ” 

“ What  are  you  lacking  here  ? ” said  the  elder  Kozeltsov, 
addressing  him.  “ You,  certainly,  are  having  an  easy  time 
here ' ** 


SEVASTOPOL 


413 


The  commissionaire  glanced  at  him,  and  turned  away. 

“ This  danger,  these  privations,  — can’t  get  anything,” 
he  continued,  turning  to  Volodya.  “ What  makes  you  so 
anxious  ? Gentlemen,  I am  positively  unable  to  under- 
stand you ! If  there  were  any  advantage  from  it,  but 
thus ! Well,  what  good  is  there  in  your  being  made  a 
cripple  for  life  at  your  age  ? ” 

“ Some  need  a monetary  advantage,  and  others  serve 
for  honour’s  sake,”  Kozeltsov  the  elder  again  put  in  his 
word. 

“ Can  honour  be  sweet  when  there’s  nothing  to  eat  ? ” 
said  the  commissionaire,  smiling  contemptously,  and  turn- 
ing to  the  officer  of  the  baggage-train,  who  also  smiled  at 
his  witticism.  “ Set  it  for  ‘ Lucia,’  and  we  will  listen,”  he 
said,  pointing  to  a music-box.  “ I like  it.” 

“ Is  that  Vasili  Mikhaylovich  a good  man?”  Volodya 
asked  his  brother,  after  leaving  the  booth  at  dusk,  and 
proceeding  on  their  way  to  Sevastopol. 

“ Passable,  only  dreadfully  stingy  ! But  I cannot  bear 
that  commissionaire.  I’ll  knock  him  down  some  day.” 


IX. 


Volodya  was  not  exactly  in  an  unhappy  frame  of 
mind  when  they  reached,  almost  at  night,  the  large 
bridge  across  the  harbour,  but  he  experienced  a heavy 
sensation  in  his  heart.  Everything  he  had  heard  and 
seen  was  so  incompatible  with  his  past,  though  still 
recent,  impressions : the  large,  bright,  parqueted  exami- 
nation hall,  the  good,  merry  voices,  and  the  laughter  of 
his  comrades,  the  new  uniform,  the  beloved  Tsar,  whom 
he  had  been  seeing  for  the  last  seven  years,  and  who, 
bidding  them  farewell,  had,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  called 
them  his  children,  — and  everything  he  now  saw  so 
little  resembled  his  fair,  rainbow-coloured,  magnanimous 
dreams ! 

“ So  here  we  are  ! ” said  the  elder  brother,  upon  reach- 
ing the  Michael  battery,  and  climbing  out  of  the  vehicle. 
“ If  they  will  let  us  through  the  bridge,  we  will  go  at 
once  to  the  Nicholas  barracks.  You  will  stay  there  until 
morning,  and  I will  go  at  once  to  the  regiment,  and 
find  out  where  your  battery  is  stationed,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing 1 will  come  for  you.” 

“ What  for?  Let  us  go  together,”  said  Volodya.  “ I 
will  go  with  you  to  the  bastion.  I shall  have  to  get  used 
to  it  sooner  or  later.  If  you  are  going  there,  I can,  too.” 

“ You  had  better  not  go.” 

“ I beg  you ; I shall,  at  least,  find  out  how  — ” 

“ My  advice  is  not  to  go.  Still  — ” 

The  sky  was  clear  and  dark ; the  stars  and  the  fires  of 
the  bombs  and  from  the  discharges,  continuously  in  mo- 

414 


SEVASTOPOL 


415 


tion,  were  already  gleaming  brightly  in  the  darkness. 
The  large  white  structure  of  the  battery  and  the  beginning 
of  the  bridge  rose  from  the  darkness.  The  discharges  of 
several  guns  and  the  explosions,  rapidly  following  each 
other  or  resounding  all  together  literally  every  second, 
shook  the  air  ever  louder  and  more  distinctly.  Through 
this  roar  could  be  heard  the  gloomy  rumbling  of  the  sea, 
as  though  seconding  it.  The  brothers  went  up  to  the 
bridge.  A reserve  soldier  struck  his  gun  against  his 
hand  in  an  awkward  manner,  and  shouted : 

“ Who  goes  there  ? ” 

“ A soldier.” 

“ I have  orders  not  to  let  any  one  through.” 

“ But  we  must  be  there.” 

“ Ask  the  officer.” 

The  officer,  who  was  dozing,  while  sitting  on  an  anchor, 
rose,  and  gave  the  order  to  let  them  through. 

“ You  may  go  there,  but  not  back.  Back  there ! I 
declare,  all  at  once ! ” he  shouted  to  the  regimental  vehi- 
cles, laden  to  the  top  with  gabions,  that  were  crowding  at 
the  entrance. 

Upon  descending  to  the  first  pontoon,  the  brothers  fell 
in  with  some  soldiers  who  were  returning  from  there,  and 
speaking  loudly. 

“ He  has  received  his  supply  of  ammunition,  and  so  he 
is  squaring  up  accounts,  — that’s  what  I tell  you.” 

“ My  friends ! ” said  another  voice,  “ as  soon  as  you 
crawl  out  on  the  Northern  side,  you  will  see  the  world 
again,  upon  my  word  ! The  air  is  different  there.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” said  the  first.  “ The  other  day  an 
accursed  bomb  flew  as  far  as  this  and  took  off  the 
legs  of  two  sailors,  that’s  what  — ” 

The  brothers  passed  the  first  pontoon,  and,  waiting  for 
the  vehicle,  halted  at  the  second,  which  in  places  was 
already  swamped.  The  wind,  which  had  seemed  feeble 
on  land,  was  very  strong  here,  and  came  in  gusts ; the 


416 


SEVASTOPOL 


bridge  swayed  to  and  fro,  and  the  waves,  noisily  washing 
against  the  beams  and  breaking  against  the  moorings  and 
cables,  flooded  the  planks.  On  the  right  the  sea  roared 
and  darkled  in  a hostile  mist,  separated  by  an  endless, 
even,  black  line  from  the  starry  heaven,  gleaming  pale 
gray  at  the  horizon  ; somewhere  in  the  distance  glimmered 
the  fires  on  the  hostile  fleet ; on  the  left  rose  the  black 
mass  of  one  of  our  ships,  and  could  be  heard  the  plashing 
of  the  waves  against  its  hull ; one  could  see  a steamer 
noisily  and  rapidly  moving  from  the  Northern  side.  The 
fire  of  a bomb  exploding  in  its  neighbourhood  for  an  in- 
stant illuminated  the  gabions  heaped  high  on  its  deck,  two 
men  standing  on  the  bridge,  and  the  white  foam  and 
sprays  of  the  greenish  waves  through  which  the  steamer 
was  ploughing. 

At  the  edge  of  the  bridge  a man  was  sitting  in  nothing 
but  a shirt,  his  feet  dangling  in  the  water,  and  was  fixing 
something  in  the  pontoon.  In  front,  over  Sevastopol, 
were  borne  the  same  fires,  and  louder  and  louder  were  the 
sounds  that  reached  them.  A surging  wave  from  the  sea 
washed  over  the  right  side  of  the  bridge  and  wet  Volodya’s 
feet ; two  soldiers,  splashing  their  feet  in  the  water,  passed 
by  him.  Suddenly  something  crashed  and  lighted  up  the 
bridge  in  front,  a vehicle  that  was  going  over  it,  and  a 
man  on  horseback,  and  the  splinters  fell  into  the  water, 
whistling  and  raising  spray. 

“ Ah,  Mikhaylo  Semenych ! ” said  the  rider,  halting  his 
horse  in  front  of  the  elder  Kozeltsov.  “ Well,  have  you 
entirely  recuperated  ? ” 

“ As  you  see.  Whither  does  God  carry  you  ? ” 

“ To  the  Northern  side,  for  cartridges.  I am  to-day 
acting  regimental  adjutant  — we  are  expecting  an  assault 
from  hour  to  hour.” 

“ Where  is  Martsdv  ? ” 

“ He  lost  a leg  yesterday  — he  was  in  town,  sleeping 
in  his  room — Do  you  know  him  ?” 


SEVASTOPOL 


417 


“ The  regiment  is  in  the  fifth  bastion,  is  it  not  ? ” 

“Yes,  they  have  taken  the  place  of  the  M regi- 

ment. Go  to  the  ambulance ; you  will  find  some  of  our 
men  there,  and  they  will  take  you  to  it.” 

“ Well,  and  my  quarters  on  the  Morskaya  are  still  in 
good  condition  ? ” 

“ Not  at  all,  my  dear ! It  has  long  ago  been  de- 
molished by  bombs.  You  will  not  recognize  Sevastopol 
now : not  a woman,  no  inns,  no  music  there  now ; yester- 
day the  last  establishment  left.  It  is  very  sad  now  — 
Good-bye ! ” 

And  the  officer  galloped  away. 

Volodya  suddenly  felt  terribly : he  thought  that  a can- 
non-ball or  a splinter  would  at  any  moment  strike  his 
head.  This  moist  darkness,  all  these  sounds,  especially 
the  growling  splash  of  the  waves,  — everything  seemed 
to  tell  him  that  he  should  not  advance,  that  nothing  good 
awaited  him  now,  that  his  foot  would  never  again  step  on 
land  on  the  other  side  of  the  bay,  that  he  had  better  turn 
back  and  run  somewhere,  as  far  away  from  the  place  as 
possible.  “ But  maybe  it  is  already  too  late  ; maybe  it  is 
my  fate,”  he  thought,  shuddering  partly  at  this  thought, 
and  partly  because  the  water  had  soaked  through  his 
boots,  and  was  wetting  his  feet. 

Volodya  drew  a deep  sigh,  and  walked  a little  away,  at 
one  side  of  his  brother. 

“ O Lord  ! Is  it  possible  I shall  be  killed  ? I,  Volodya 
Kozeltsov  ? 0 Lord,  have  mercy  upon  me  ! ” he  said,  in 

a whisper,  making  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

“Come  now,  Volodya!”  said  the  elder  brother,  as  the 
vehicle  got  up  on  the  bridge.  “Have  you  seen  the 
bomb  ? ” 

On  the  bridge  the  brothers  encountered  wagons  with 
wounded  men,  with  gabions,  and  one  with  furniture  which 
a woman  was  taking  away.  On  the  other  side  nobody 
barred  their  way. 


418 


SEVASTOPOL 


Instinctively,  groping  along  the  wall  of  the  Nicholas 
battery,  the  brothers  listened  in  silence  to  the  sounds  of 
the  bombs  which  were  bursting  overhead  and  to  the  roar 
of  the  splinters  that  were  falling  from  above,  and  arrived 
at  that  place  in  the  battery  where  the  image  was.  Here 
they  learned  that  the  fifth  light  battery,  to  which  Vo- 
lodya had  been  assigned,  was  stationed  at  the  Shipwharf ; 
they  decided,  in  spite  of  the  danger,  to  go  for  the  night  to 
the  elder  brother’s  station  in  the  fifth  bastion,  and  thence, 
on  the  following  morning,  to  the  battery.  Turning  into 
the  corridor,  and  stepping  over  the  legs  of  the  sleeping 
soldiers,  who  were  lying  along  the  whole  wall  of  the 
battery,  they  finally  reached  the  ambulance. 


X. 


Upon  entering  the  first  room,  filled  with  cots,  upon 
which  lay  the  wounded,  and  saturated  with  an  oppressive, 
disgustingly  terrible  hospital  odour,  they  met  two  Sisters 
of  Mercy,  who  were  walking  toward  them. 

One  woman,  about  fifty  years  of  age,  with  black  eyes 
and  a severe  expression  on  her  face,  was  carrying  band- 
ages and  lint,  and  giving  orders  to  a boyish  surgeon’s 
assistant,  who  was  following  her  ; the  other,  a very  pretty 
girl,  about  twenty  years  of  age,  with  a pale,  gentle,  fair- 
complexioned  face,  which  looked  sweet  and  helpless  from 
underneath  her  white  cap,  and  with  her  hands  in  the 
pockets  of  her  apron,  was  walking  by  the  side  of  the 
elder  woman,  apparently  afraid  to  leave  her. 

Kozeltsov  addressed  to  them  the  question  as  to  where 
Martsov  was,  who  had  lost  a leg  the  day  before. 

“ I think,  of  the  P regiment  ? ” asked  the  older 

woman.  “ Is  he  a relative  of  yours  ? ” 

“ No,  a comrade.” 

“Take  them  there,”  she  said  to  the  young  Sister,  in 
French.  “ Over  there,”  and  she  herself  walked  over  to  a 
wounded  man  with  the  assistant. 

“ Come  now  — what  are  you  gazing  at  ? ” said  Kozel- 
tsdv  to  Volodya,  who  had  raised  his  eyebrows  and  was 
staring  at  the  wounded  with  an  expression  of  compassion, 
without  being  able  to  tear  himself  away  from  them. 
“ Come  on  ! ” 

Volodya  followed  his  brother,  but  he  continued  to  look 
around  and  unconsciously  to  repeat : 

419 


420 


SEVASTOPOL 


"0  Lord!  0 Lord!” 

“ He  has  evidently  not  been  here  long  ! ” said  the 
Sister  to  Kozeltsov,  pointing  to  Volddya,  who,  sighing  and 
repeating  his  exclamation,  followed  them  through  the 
corridor. 

“ He  has  just  arrived.”  • 

The  pretty  sister  glanced  at  Volodya  and  suddenly 
burst  out  weeping.  “ My  God  ! My  God  ! When  will 
all  this  end  ? ” she  said,  with  an  expression  of  despair  in 
her  voice.  They  entered  the  officer’s  room.  Martsov 
lay  on  his  back,  holding  his  muscular  arms,  bared  up  to 
the  elbow,  behind  his  head,  with  an  expression  on  his 
sallow  face  which  showed  that  he  had  set  his  teeth,  in 
order  not  to  cry  from  pain.  His  sound  leg,  in  a stocking, 
stuck  out  from  underneath  his  coverlet,  and  one  could 
see  how  he  was  convulsively  moving  his  toes. 

“ Well,  how  are  you  ? ” asked  the  Sister,  with  her  thin, 
gentle  fingers,  upon  one  of  which  Volodya  noticed  a gold 
ring,  raising  his  somewhat  bald  head  and  fixing  the  pillow. 
“ Your  comrades  have  come  to  see  you.” 

“ Of  course,  it  is  painful,”  he  said,  angrily.  “ Let  me 
alone  ! It  is  all  right.”  The  toes  in  the  stocking  began  to 
twitch  faster.  “ How  are  you  ? What  is  your  name  ? 
Pardon  me,”  he  said,  turning  to  Kozeltsov.  “ Oh,  yes ! 
I beg  your  pardon ! One  does  forget  here  everything. 
We  did  live  together,”  he  added,  without  the  least  expres- 
sion of  pleasure,  looking  questioningly  at  Volodya. 

“This  is  my  brother,  he  has  just  arrived  from  St. 
Petersburg.” 

“ Hm  ! And  I have  received  my  full  discharge,”  he 
said,  with  a scowl.  “ Oh,  how  it  pains ! I wish  I were 
dead ! ” 

He  raised  his  legs,  and,  continuing  to  twitch  his  toes 
with  increased  rapidity,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

“ He  must  be  left  alone,”  the  Sister  said,  in  a whisper, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  “ He  is  in  a bad  condition.” 


SEVASTOPOL 


421 


The  brothers  had  decided  while  still  on  the  Northern 
side  to  go  to  the  fifth  bastion.  But,  as  they  emerged  from 
the  Nicholas  battery,  they  seemed  to  have  agreed  not  to 
subject  themselves  to  unnecessary  danger,  and,  without 
saying  anything  on  this  point,  they  decided  to  go  each 
his  own  way. 

“But  how  will  you  find  it,  Volodya?”  said  the  elder 
brother.  “ Nikolaev  will  take  you  to  the  Shipwharf,  and 
I will  go  by  myself,  and  will  be  with  you  to-morrow.” 
Nothing  else  was  said  in  this  last  farewell  between  the 
two  brothers. 


XL 


The  booming  of  the  cannon  was  continued  with  the 
same  force,  but  the  Ekatermenskaya  Street,  through  which 
Volodya  was  walking,  with  taciturn  Nikolaev  at  his  heels, 
was  deserted  and  quiet.  In  the  dusk  he  could  see  only 
the  broad  street,  with  the  white  walls  of  large  houses 
mostly  in  ruins,  and  the  stone  sidewalks,  over  which  he 
was  marching:  occasionally  he  met  some  soldiers  and 
officers.  Passing  on  the  left  side  by  the  Admiralty,  he 
could  discern,  in  the  glaring  fire  which  was  burning  beyond 
the  wall,  the  acacias  planted  along  the  sidewalk,  with 
their  green  supports,  and  the  wretched,  dust-covered 
leaves  of  these  trees.  He  distinctly  heard  his  steps  and 
those  of  Nikolaev,  who  was  walking  behind  him,  breath- 
ing heavily.  He  thought  of  nothing  in  particular:  the 
pretty  Sister  of  Mercy,  Martsov’s  foot  with  its  toes  twitch- 
ing in  the  stocking,  the  bombs,  and  various  pictures  of 
death  dimly  passed  through  his  imagination.  All  his 
youthful,  impressionable  soul  was  compressed  and  pining 
under  the  consciousness  of  his  loneliness  and  of  the 
universal  indifference  to  his  fate  in  danger. 

“ I shall  be  killed,  shall  suffer  and  writhe,  and  nobody 
will  weep  for  me ! ” And  all  this  in  place  of  the  life  of 
a hero,  full  of  energy  and  sympathy,  of  which  he  had  had 
such  glorious  dreams.  The  bombs  exploded  and  whistled 
nearer  and  nearer ; Nikolaev  sighed  more  frequently,  with- 
out breaking  the  silence.  As  he  crossed  the  bridge,  which 
led  to  the  Shipwharf,  he  saw  something  strike  the  water 
not  far  from  him,  with  a whistling  sound ; for  a second 

422 


SEVASTOPOL 


423 


it  cast  a blood-red  glamour  on  the  violet  waves,  then  it 
disappeared,  and  again  rose  from  it  with  the  spray, 

“ I declare,  she  is  not  dead  yet ! ” said  Nikolaev, 
hoarsely. 

“ Yes,”  he  answered,  involuntarily  and  unexpectedly  to 
himself,  in  a thin,  piping  voice. 

They  encountered  stretchers  with  wounded  soldiers, 
and  again  regimental  carts  with  gabions ; at  the  Ship- 
wharf  they  fell  in  with  a regiment ; horsemen  passed  by 
them.  One  of  them  was  an  officer,  with  a Cossack.  He 
was  riding  at  a gallop,  but  seeing  Volodya,  he  checked 
his  horse  near  him,  looked  into  his  face,  turned  away,  and 
rode  off,  striking  his  horse  with  the  whip. 

“ Alone,  all  alone  ! It  makes  no  difference  to  anybody 
whether  I exist  or  not,”  thought  the  boy,  and  he  wanted 
to  weep  in  earnest. 

Having  ascended  a hill,  past  a high,  white  wall,  he 
entered  a street  of  demolished  little  cottages,  which  were 
constantly  illuminated  by  bombs.  A drunken,  slatternly 
woman,  who  came  out  of  a gate  with  a sailor,  stumbled 
upon  him. 

“ Because,  if  he  were  a gentleman,”  she  mumbled, 
“ pardon,  your  Honour,  Mr.  Officer  ! ” 

The  poor  boy's  heart  was  becoming  heavier  and  heavier ; 
lightnings  flashed  oftener  and  oftener  against  the  black 
horizon,  and  bombs  oftener  and  oftener  whistled  and 
burst  about  him.  Nikolaev  sighed  and  suddenly  began 
to  speak,  in  what  appeared  to  Volodya  a voice  of  restrained 
terror. 

“ There  we  were  in  a hurry  to  leave  the  province. 
Journeying  all  the  time.  A fine  place  to  hurry  to!” 

“ Brother  is  well  now,”  replied  Volodya,  hoping  by 
a conversation  to  dispel  the  terrible  feeling  which  had 
taken  possession  of  him. 

“ Well  ? You  don’t  call  him  well,  do  you  ? Even 
those  who  are  completely  well  had  better  stay  in  a hos- 


424 


SEVASTOPOL 


pital  at  such  a time.  What  pleasure  is  there  to  be  found 
here  ? A man  loses  a leg  or  an  arm,  that  is  all ! Mis- 
fortunes are  happening  here  all  the  time ! It  is  not  in 
the  city  here  as  in  the  bastion,  but  it  is  bad  as  it  is.  You 
walk  and  you  say  your  prayers.  I declare  that  beast  is 
whizzing  past  me,”  he  added,  listening  to  the  sound  of 
a splinter  buzzing  past  him.  "Now,”  added  Nikolaev, 
“ I am  told  to  accompany  your  Honour,  Of  course,  it  is 
our  duty  to  obey  orders ; but  we  have  left  our  cart  with 
a soldier,  and  a bundle  is  open  — Go,  accompany  him  ! 
And  if  anything  is  lost  of  the  property,  Nikolaev  will  be 
responsible.” 

After  taking  a few  more  steps,  they  emerged  in  a 
square.  Nikolaev  remained  silent,  and  sighed. 

“ There  your  artillery  is  stationed,  your  Honour ! ” he 
suddenly  said.  “ Ask  the  sentry  : he  will  show  you.” 

Volodya  took  a few  more  steps  and  no  longer  heard 
the  sound  of  Nikolaev’s  sighs. 

All  at  once  he  felt  himself  completely,  absolutely,  alone. 
This  consciousness  of  loneliness  in  the  danger  preceding 
death,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  weighed  as  a terribly  heavy, 
cold  stone  upon  his  heart.  He  stopped  in  the  middle  of 
the  square,  looked  around  him,  to  see  whether  anybody 
saw  him,  clasped  his  head,  and  in  terror  thought  and 
said  : “ O Lord  ! Am  I indeed  a coward,  a contemptible, 
despicable,  low  coward  — for  my  country,  for  the  Tsar, 
for  whom  I had  but  lately  joyfully  dreamed  to  die  ? No, 
I am  an  unfortunate,  wretched  creature  !”  And  Volodya, 
with  a genuine  feeling  of  despair  and  disenchantment  in 
himself,  asked  the  sentry  for  the  house  of  the  commander 
of  the  battery,  and  went  in  the  direction  pointed  out  to 
him. 


XII. 


The  dwelling  of  the  commander  of  the  battery,  which 
the  sentry  had  pointed  out  to  him,  was  a small  house  of 
two  stories,  with  an  entrance  from  the  yard.  In  one  of 
the  windows,  pasted  over  with  paper,  glimmered  a feeble 
candle-light.  The  orderly  sat  on  the  porch  and  smoked 
a pipe.  He  went  in  to  report  to  the  commander  of  the 
battery,  and  led  Volodya  into  a room.  In  the  room, 
between  two  windows,  beneath  a broken  mirror,  stood 
a table,  covered  with  official  papers,  a few  chairs,  and  an 
iron  bed  with  clean  bedclothes,  and  a small  rug  near  it. 

At  the  very  door  stood  a handsome  man  with  a long 
moustache,  a sergeant,  with  his  short  sword  and  clad  in 
his  overcoat,  on  which  hung  a cross  and  a Hungarian 
medal.  In  the  middle  of  the  room  paced  an  undersized 
officer  of  the  staff,  about  forty  years  of  age,  his  swollen 
cheek  wrapped  up,  wearing  an  old,  thin  overcoat. 

“ I have  the  honour  of  presenting  myself,  Ensign  Ko- 
zeltsov  the  second,  ordered  to  report  at  the  fifth  light 
battery,”  Volodya  uttered  the  phrase  which  he  had  learned 
by  rote,  upon  entering  the  room. 

The  commander  of  the  battery  dryly  returned  his 
salute,  and,  without  offering  him  his  hand,  invited  him  to 
be  seated. 

Volodya  timidly  sat  down  on  the  chair  near  the  writing- 
desk,  and  began  to  finger  a pair  of  scissors  on  which  he 
had  laid  his  hands.  The  commander  of  the  battery,  fold- 
ing his  hands  behind  his  back  and  lowering  his  head, 
silently  paced  the  room,  with  the  expression  of  a man  who 

425 


426 


SEVASTOPOL 


is  trying  to  recollect  something,  and  now  and  then  looked 
at  the  hands  that  were  twirling  the  scissors. 

The  commander  of  the  battery  was  a fairly  stout  man, 
with  a large  bald  spot  on  the  crown  of  his  head,  a thick 
moustache,  left  to  grow  at  will,  and  covering  his  mouth, 
and  pleasing  hazel  eyes.  His  hands  were  beautiful,  clean, 
and  plump ; his  feet  were  small,  with  toes  well  turned 
out,  and  they  stepped  with  conviction  and  with  a certain 
dandyism,  which  bore  evidence  that  the  commander  of 
the  battery  was  not  a bashful  man. 

“ Yes,”  he  said,  stopping  in  front  of  the  sergeant,  “ be- 
ginning with  to-morrow  we  must  add  a measure  of  grain 
for  each  horse  of  the  caisson,  for  they  are  looking  rather 
lean.  What  do  you  think  about  it  ? ” 

“ Well,  we  can  add  it,  your  Honour  ! Oats  are  cheaper 
now,”  replied  the  sergeant,  moving  the  fingers  of  his 
hands,  which  he  held  straight  down  along  the  seams,  but 
which  he  evidently  was  fond  of  displaying  as  an  aid  to 
conversation.  “ Forager  Franchuk  brought  me  yesterday 
a note  from  the  baggage-train,  your  Honour,  that  we  must 
buy  our  axles  there,  — they  say  they  are  cheap.  So  what 
is  your  order  ? ” 

“ Buy  them ! He  has  the  money.”  And  the  com- 
mander of  the  battery  again  started  to  walk  up  and  down 
the  room.  “ Where  are  your  things  ? ” he  suddenly  asked 
Volodya,  halting  in  front  of  him. 

Poor  Volodya  was  so  assailed  by  the  idea  that  he  was 
a coward  that  in  every  glance,  in  every  word,  he  discovered 
contempt  for  him,  the  wretched  coward.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  the  commander  of  the  battery  had  already  made 
out  his  secret,  and  that  he  was  making  light  of  him.  He 
answered  confusedly  that  his  things  were  on  the  Graf- 
skaya  wharf,  and  that  his  brother  had  promised  to  bring 
them  on  the  next  day. 

But  the  lieutenant-colonel  was  not  listening  to  him; 
turning  to  the  sergeant,  he  asked : 


SEVASTOPOL 


427 


“ Where  shall  we  locate  the  ensign  ? ” 

“ The  ensign  ? ” asked  the  sergeant,  still  more  embar- 
rassing Volodya  with  a cursory  glance,  expressive  of  the 
question,  “What  kind  of  an  ensign  is  he?”  “Well, 
below,  your  Honour,  with  the  staff-captain,  we  may  place 
the  ensign,”  he  continued,  after  a moment’s  thought. 
“ The  stafl-captain  is  now  in  the  bastion,  so  his  cot  is 
unoccupied.” 

“Won’t  you  take  it,  then,  for  the  time  being?”  said 
the  commander  of  the  battery.  “ I suppose  you  are  tired. 
To-morrow  we  shall  fix  it  better.” 

Volodya  rose  and  bowed. 

“Wouldn’t  you  like  some  tea?”  said  the  commander 
of  the  battery,  as  he  was  approaching  the  door.  “ You 
may  order  the  samovar.” 

Volodya  bowed  and  went  out.  The  colonel’s  orderly 
took  him  down-stairs,  and  led  him  into  a bare,  dirty 
room,  in  which  all  kinds  of  lumber  were  lying  around 
and  an  iron  bed  was  standing  without  bedding  or  coverlet. 
On  the  bed  slept  a man  in  a pink  shirt,  covered  with  a 
thick  overcoat. 

Volodya  took  him  for  a soldier. 

“ Peter  Nikolaevich ! ” said  the  orderly,  pushing  the 
sleeping  man  by  the  shoulder.  “ The  ensign  will  lie  down 
here — This  is  our  yunker,”  he  added,  turning  to  the 
ensign. 

“Oh,  please  do  not  trouble  yourself,”  said  Volodya; 
but  the  yunker,  a tall,  solidly  built  young  man,  with  a 
handsome,  but  very  stupid  face,  rose  from  the  bed,  threw 
the  overcoat  over  his  shoulders,  and,  evidently  not  yet 
fully  awake,  went  out  of  the  room. 

“ That’s  all  right,  I will  sleep  in  the  yard,”  he  muttered* 


XIII. 


When  Volodya  was  left  alone  with  his  thoughts,  his 
first  sensation  was  a dread  of  the  disorderly  and  discon- 
solate condition  in  which  his  soul  was.  He  wanted  to 
fall  asleep  and  to  forget  everything  that  surrounded  him, 
but  especially  himself.  He  put  out  the  candle,  lay  down 
on  the  bed,  and,  taking  off  his  overcoat,  covered  his  head 
over  with  it,  so  as  to  free  himself  of  the  terror  of  dark- 
ness, to  which  he  had  been  subject  from  childhood. 
Suddenly  he  was  struck  by  the  thought  that  a bomb 
would  reach  the  house,  pierce  the  roof,  and  kill  him.  He 
listened  attentively ; above  him  could  be  heard  the  steps 
of  the  commander  of  the  battery. 

“ Still,  if  it  does  reach  here,”  he  thought,  “ it  will  first 
kill  up-stairs,  and  me  only  afterward ; at  least,  I shall  not 
be  the  only  one.”  This  thought  calmed  him  a little ; he 
was  beginning  to  doze  off.  “ But  what  will  happen  if 
Sevastopol  is  taken  to-night,  and  the  French  make  an 
irruption  here  ? What  shall  I defend  myself  with  ? ” 
He  again  got  up,  and  began  to  pace  the  room.  The  terror 
of  the  real  danger  suppressed  the  mysterious  terror  of  the 
darkness.  There  was  no  solid  object  in  the  room  but  a 
saddle  and  a samovar. 

“ I am  a scoundrel,  a coward,  a vile  coward ! ” he  sud- 
denly thought,  and  once  more  passed  over  to  the  oppress- 
ive feeling  of  contempt  and  even  disgust  with  himself. 
He  lay  down  again,  and  endeavoured  not  to  think.  Then 
the  impressions  of  the  day  involuntarily  rose  in  his 

428 


SEVASTOPOL 


429 


imagination,  under  the  accompaniment  of  the  uninter- 
rupted sounds  which  made  the  panes  in  the  one  window 
tremble,  and  they  again  reminded  him  of  the  danger  : now 
it  was  the  wounded  and  the  blood  that  stood  before  him ; 
now  bombs  and  splinters,  that  were  flying  into  the  room ; 
now  the  pretty  Sister  of  Mercy,  who  was  dressing  his 
mortal  wound,  and  weeping  over  him  ; now  his  mother, 
who  was  seeing  him  off  in  the  provincial  town,  and  fer- 
vently praying,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  before  the  miracle- 
working  image,  — and  again  his  dream  seemed  impossible 
to  him.  But  suddenly  the  thought  of  Almighty  God, 
who  could  do  everything  and  receive  every  prayer,  clearly 
entered  into  his  mind.  He  knelt  down,  made  the  sign  of 
the  cross,  and  folded  his  hands  as  he  had  been  taught  to 
pray  in  childhood.  This  attitude  suddenly  transferred 
him  to  a long-forgotten  blissful  feeling. 

“ If  I must  die,  if  it  is  necessary  that  I should  not  be, 
take  me,  0 Lord,”  he  thought,  “ take  me  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible ; but  if  bravery,  if  firmness  are  needed,  which  I do 
not  possess,  give  them  to  me,  save  me  from  shame  and 
disgrace,  which  I am  unable  to  bear,  and  teach  me  what 
to  do  in  order  to  execute  Thy  will.” 

The  shy,  childish,  limited  soul  suddenly  became  manly 
and  bright,  and  saw  new,  wide,  bright  horizons.  Many, 
many  things  he  thought  and  felt  in  the  short  time  while 
this  feeling  lasted.  He  soon  fell  into  quiet,  undisturbed 
slumber,  under  the  sounds  of  the  protracted  roar  of  the 
bombardment  and  the  trembling  of  the  windows. 

Almighty  God ! Thou  alone  hast  heard  and  knowest 
those  simple,  but  ardent  and  despairing  prayers  of  igno- 
rance and  of  dim  repentance,  and  the  entreaties  to  heal 
their  bodies  and  enlighten  their  minds,  which  have  risen 
to  Thee  from  this  terrible  place  of  death,  issuing  from  the 
mouth  of  a general,  who  but  a second  before  had  been 
dreaming  of  the  Cross  of  St.  George  on  his  neck,  but  now 
with  terror  was  aware  of  Thy  nearness,  down  to  the 


430 


SEVASTOPOL 


common  soldier,  who  fell  down  on  the  bare  floor  of  the 
Nicholas  battery  and  implored  Thee  to  give  him  there 
the  unconsciously  anticipated  reward  for  all  his  suffer- 
ings! 


XIV. 

The  elder  Kozeltsov,  having  met  in  the  street  a soldier 
of  his  regiment,  repaired  with  him  at  once  to  the  fifth 
bastion. 

“ Hold  on  to  the  wall,  your  Honour  ! ” said  the  soldier. 

“ Why?” 

“ It  is  dangerous,  your  Honour ; it  is  carrying  across,” 
said  the  soldier,  listening  to  the  sound  of  a shell  whis- 
tling past  him  and  striking  against  the  dry  earth  on  the 
other  side  of  the  street. 

Kozeltsov  paid  no  attention  to  the  soldier,  but  con- 
tinued to  walk  briskly  in  the  middle  of  the  street. 

The  streets  were  the  same;  the  fires,  sounds,  groans, 
and  encounters  of  wounded  men  were  the  same,  nay, 
more  frequent.  The  batteries,  breastworks,  and  trenches 
were  the  same  as  in  the  spring,  when  he  had  been  in 
Sevastopol ; but  all  this  was  for  some  reason  more  melan- 
choly now,  and  at  the  same  time  more  energetic.  There 
were  more  breaches  in  the  houses,  no  lights  whatsoever 
in  the  windows,  except  in  Kush  chin’s  house  (the  hos- 
pital), not  one  woman  was  met  with,  and  on  everything 
lay  not  the  former  character  of  habit  and  carelessness, 
but  the  imprint  of  oppressive  expectation  and  weariness. 

Finally  the  last  trench  was  reached,  and  there  he  heard 

the  voice  of  a soldier  of  the  P regiment,  who  had 

recognized  the  former  commander  of  his  company,  and 
there  the  third  battalion  stood  in  the  darkness,  crowding 
at  the  wall,  occasionally  illuminated  by  the  fire  of  the 

431 


432 


SEVASTOPOL 


fusilade,  but  otherwise  audible  by  their  subdued  conver- 
sation and  clanking  of  guns. 

“ Where  is  the  commander  of  the  regiment  ? ” asked 
Kozeltsov. 

“ In  the  blindage,  with  the  naval  men,  your  Honour ! ” 
replied  the  obliging  soldier.  “ If  you  please,  I will  take 
you  there.” 

From  one  trench  into  another,  the  soldier  brought 
Kozeltsov  to  a ditch  in  a trench.  Here  sat  a sailor, 
smoking  a pipe ; behind  him  could  be  seen  a door, 
through  the  chink  of  which  peeped  a light. 

“ May  I enter  ? ” 

“ I shall  announce  you  at  once,”  and  the  sailor  went 
through  the  door. 

Two  voices  were  speaking  behind  the  door. 

“ If  Prussia  will  continue  its  neutrality,”  said  one  voice, 
“ then  Austria,  too  — ” 

“What  of  Austria,”  said  another,  “when  the  Slavic 
countries  — go  beg  them  — ” 

Kozeltsov  had  never  been  in  this  blindage.  It  startled 
him  by  its  elegance.  The  floor  was  of  parquetry,  and 
a screen  covered  the  door.  Along  the  walls  stood  two 
beds;  in  the  corner  stood  a large  image  of  the  Virgin, 
in  gold  foil,  and  in  front  of  it  burnt  a rose-coloured  lamp. 
On  one  of  the  beds  slept  a sailor,  with  all  his  clothes  on ; 
on  the  other,  at  a table,  on  which  stood  two  half-full 
bottles  of  wine,  sat  the  persons  conversing,  — the  new 
commander  of  the  regiment,  and  an  adjutant.  Though 
Kozeltsov  was  far  from  being  a coward,  and  was  guilty 
of  absolutely  nothing,  either  before  the  government  or 
before  the  commander  of  the  regiment,  yet  he  lost  his 
composure  before  the  colonel,  who  but  lately  had  been 
his  comrade,  — so  proudly  did  this  colonel  rise  and  listen 
to  him. 

“ It  is  strange,”  thought  Kozeltsdv,  looking  at  his  com- 
mander ; “ it  is  only  seven  weeks  since  he  has  assumed 


SEVASTOPOL 


433 


the  command  of  the  regiment,  and  how  already  in  all  his 
surroundings,  in  his  attire,  movements,  and  looks  may  be 
discerned  the  power  of  a commander  of  the  regiment. 
How  long  ago  is  it,”  he  thought,  “ since  this  very  Batrish- 
chev  used  to  carouse  with  us,  and  to  wear  for  weeks  at 
a time  a dark-coloured  shirt,  and  to  eat  all  the  time 
chopped  steak  and  cheese  pie  without  inviting  any  one 
to  his  room  ? And  now  ! There  is  an  expression  of  chill 
haughtiness  in  his  eyes,  which  says  to  you : ‘ Though  I 
am  a comrade  of  yours,  being  a regimental  commander 
of  the  new  school,  yet  believe  me,  I know  how  gladly 
you  would  give  up  half  your  life,  if  you  could  be  in 
my  place  ! ’ ” 

“ You  have  been  rather  long  convalescing,”  the  colonel 
said  coldly  to  Kozeltsov,  looking  at  him. 

“ I was  ill,  colonel ! Even  now  the  wound  is  not  all 
healed  over.” 

“ Then  there  was  no  use  coming,”  said  the  colonel, 
eyeing  the  officer’s  whole  form  with  a suspicious  glance. 
“ But  can  you  attend  to  duty  ? ” 

“ Certainly  I can.” 

“ I am  glad  of  it.  Take  then  from  Ensign  Zaytsev  the 
ninth  company,  — the  one  you  had  before ; you  will  get 
the  order  at  once.” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ Be  so  kind  as  to  send  to  me  the  adjutant  of  the  regi- 
ment, when  you  leave,”  concluded  the  commander  of  the 
regiment,  letting,  him  know  by  a slight  inclination  of 
his  head  that  the  interview  was  at  an  end. 

Coming  out  of  the  blindage,  Kozeltsov  grumbled  some- 
thing several  times  and  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  though 
something  pained,  annoyed,  and  mortified  him ; it  was  not 
the  commander  of  the  regiment  who  mortified  him  (there 
was  no  reason  for  that),  but  he  was  somehow  dissatisfied 
with  himself  and  with  all  that  surrounded  him. 


XV. 


Before  meeting  his  officers,  Kozelts<5v  went  to  greet 
his  company  and  to  find  out  where  it  was  stationed. 
The  breastwork  of  gabions,  the  forms  of  the  trenches,  the 
cannon  that  he  passed,  even  the  splinters  and  bombs 
against  which  he  stumbled  on  his  way,  — all  this  con- 
tinually illuminated  by  the  fires  of  the  discharges,  was 
quite  familiar  to  him ; all  this  had  been  well  impressed 
upon  his  memory  three  months  before,  during  the  two 
weeks  he  had  passed  without  interruption  in  this  very 
bastion.  Though  there  was  much  of  a terrifying  nature 
in  these  reminiscences,  yet  there  was  mingled  with  them 
a certain  charm  of  the  past,  and  it  gave  him  pleasure  to 
recognize  the  familiar  places  and  objects,  as  though 
he  had  passed  two  agreeable  weeks  here.  The  company 
was  stationed  near  the  defensive  wall  on  the  side  of  the 
sixth  bastion. 

Kozeltsov  entered  a long  blindage,  which  was  entirely 
open  on  the  side  of  the  entrance,  and  in  which  he  was 
told  the  ninth  company  was  stationed.  There  literally 
was  left  no  space  to  step  foot  in  the  whole  blindage : 
it  was  so  choked  with  soldiers  up  to  the  very  entrance. 
On  one  side  was  burning  a crooked  tallow  dip,  which 
a soldier  was  holding,  while  lying  down,  to  throw  light 
on  a book  from  which  another  soldier  was  reading  by 
syllables.  Near  the  candle  in  the  stifling  half-light 
of  the  blindage  were  seen  craning  heads,  eagerly  listening 
to  the  reader.  The  book  was  a primer.  Upon  entering 
the  blindage,  Kozeltsov  heard  the  following : 

434 


SEVASTOPOL 


435 


“ Pray-er  aft-er  study.  I thank  Thee,  Cre-a-tor  — ” 

“ Snuff  the  candle  ! ” said  a voice.  “ It  is  a fine  book.” 
“ My  — God  — ” continued  the  reader. 

When  Kozeltsdv  asked  for  the  sergeant,  the  reader 
stopped,  the  soldiers  began  to  stir,  to  clear  their  throats, 
and  to  sniffle,  as  is  always  the  case  after  a repressed  con- 
versation ; the  sergeant,  buttoning  himself,  rose  near  the 
group  around  the  reader,  and,  stepping  over  and  upon  the 
legs  of  those  who  could  not  find  a place  to  draw  them 
back,  went  out  to  the  officer. 

“ Good  evening,  brother ! Is  this  all  our  company  ? ” 

“ I wish  you  health  ! I congratulate  your  Honour  upon 
your  arrival ! ” answered  the  sergeant,  looking  merrily  and 
in  a friendly  manner  at  Kozeltsov.  “ How  is  your  health, 
your  Honour  ? Thank  God.  It  was  dull  without  you.” 
It  was  evident  that  Kozeltsov  was  loved  by  his  com- 
pany. 

In  the  depth  of  the  blindage  could  be  heard  voices : 
“ The  old  captain  is  back,  the  one  that  was  wounded, 
Kozeltsov,  Mikhaylo  Semenych,”  and  so  forth  ; some  even 
moved  toward  him,  and  his  drummer  saluted  him. 

“ Good  evening,  Obanchuk  ! ” said  Kozeltsov.  “ Are 
you  hale  ? Good  evening,  boys ! ” he  then  said,  raising 
his  voice. 

“We  wish  you  health  ! ” was  roared  forth  in  the  blind- 
age. 

“ How  are  you  getting  on,  boys  ? ” 

“ Poorly,  your  Honour.  The  French  are  getting  the 
best  of  us,  that’s  bad ; they  are  shooting  from  behind  the 
entrenchment,  and  that’s  all ! They  do  not  come  out  into 
the  field.” 

“ Maybe,  with  God’s  aid,  it  will  be  my  luck  to  see  them 
come  out  into  the  field,  boys  ! ” said  Kozeltsov.  “ It  will 
not  be  our  first  time ; we  will  stab  them  again.” 

“ It  will  give  us  pleasure  to  do  our  best,”  said  several 
voices. 


436 


SEVASTOPOL 


“ He  is,  really,  brave/’  said  a voice. 

“ He  is  mightily  brave  ! ” said  the  drummer,  not  aloud, 
but  audibly  enough,  turning  to  another  soldier,  as  though 
finding  his  justification  in  the  words  of  the  commander  of 
the  company,  and  convincing  him  that  there  was  nothing 
boastful  and  improbable  in  these  words. 

From  the  soldiers,  Kozeltsov  passed  over  to  the  defen- 
sive barracks,  to  his  fellow  officers. 


XYI. 


In  the  large  room  of  the  barracks  there  was  an  immense 
throng  of  naval,  artillery,  and  infantry  officers.  Some 
were  asleep,  others  conversed,  sitting  on  a caisson  and  the 
carriage  of  a fortress  cannon ; others  again,  forming  the 
largest  and  noisiest  group  under  the  vault,  were  seated  on 
the  floor,  on  two  spread  felt  mantles,  drinking  porter  and 
playing  cards. 

“ Ah,  Kozeltsov,  Kozeltsov  ! It  is  good  of  you  to  have 
come,  you  are  a brave  fellow ! — How  is  the  wound  ? ” 
they  said  on  all  sides.  It  was  evident  that  they  liked 
him  here,  too,  and  that  they  were  glad  to  see  him  back. 

Having  pressed  the  hands  of  his  acquaintances,  Kozel- 
tsov joined  the  noisy  group,  which  was  formed  by  sev- 
eral officers  playing  cards.  Among  them  also  were  his 
acquaintances.  A handsome,  sparse,  dark-complexioned 
man,  with  a long  thin  nose  and  long  moustache  standing 
out  from  his  cheeks,  was  keeping  bank  with  his  white  thin 
fingers,  on  one  of  which  was  a large  gold  ring  with  a coat 
of  arms.  He  was  paying  bank,  thrusting  the  money 
straight  and  irregularly,  evidently  agitated  by  something, 
though  he  wished  to  appear  careless.  Near  him,  on  his 
right,  lay,  leaning  on  his  arm,  a gray-haired  major,  who 
with  an  affectation  of  cold-bloodedness  punted  at  half  a 
rouble,  and  immediately  paid  the  stakes.  On  the  left 
squatted  an  officer  with  a red,  perspiring  face,  smiling 
forcedly,  and  jesting.  When  his  cards  were  beaten,  he 
kept  moving  one  of  his  hands  in  the  empty  pocket  of  his 

437 


438 


SEVASTOPOL 


trousers.  He  was  playing  at  large  stakes,  but  obviously 
no  longer  with  cash,  and  it  was  this  which  angered  the 
handsome,  dark-complexioned  man.  Up  and  down  the 
room  walked,  with  a large  package  of  paper  money  in  his 
hands,  a bald-headed,  haggard,  pale  officer,  with  a huge 
nose  and  mouth,  and  he  constantly  put  up  cash  on  the 
cards,  and  won  the  stakes. 

Kozeltsov  took  a drink  of  brandy  and  sat  down  near 
the  players. 

“ Won’t  you  take  a punt,  Mikhail  Sem4nych?”  the 
cashier  said  to  him.  “ J suppose  you  have  brought  a pile 
of  money  with  you.” 

“ Where  was  I to  get  the  money  from  ? On  the  con- 
trary, I spent  the  last  in  the  city.” 

“ I don’t  believe  it ! You  must  have  fleeced  somebody 
at  Simferopol.” 

“ Really,  I have  very  little,”  said  Kozeltsov,  but  evi- 
dently not  wishing  to  be  taken  at  his  word,  he  unbuttoned 
his  coat,  and  took  the  old  cards  into  his  hands. 

“ Well,  I’ll  try  my  luck ; the  devil  sometimes  plays 
funny  tricks ! Even  a gnat,  you  know,  can  do  things. 
Only  I must  fortify  myself  by  a drink.” 

After  taking  another  wine-glass  of  brandy  and  some 
porter,  he  in  a short  time  lost  his  last  three  roubles. 

Against  the  short  perspiring  officer  was  written  one 
hundred  and  fifty  roubles. 

“ No,  I have  no  luck,”  he  said,  carelessly  taking  a new 
card. 

“ Will  you  kindly  send  it  ? ” said  the  cashier,  stopping 
for  a moment  in  his  dealing,  and  looking  at  him. 

“ Permit  me  to  send  it  to-morrow,”  answered  the  per- 
spiring officer,  getting  up  and  convulsively  rummaging 
through  his  empty  pocket. 

“Hm!”  grumbled  the  cashier,  and,  angrily  dealing  to 
the  right  and  left,  he  gave  out  the  whole  pack.  “ But 
really,  this  won’t  do,”  he  said,  putting  down  his  cardSc 


SEVASTOPOL 


439 


“ I pass.  This  will  not  do,  Zakhar  Ivanych,”  he  added. 
“We  were  playing  for  cash,  and  not  to  charge  up.” 

“ Do  you  doubt  me  ? That  is  strange  ! ” 

“ From  whom  am  I to  get  it  ? ” growled  the  major,  who 
had  won  something  like  eight  roubles.  “ I have  sent  up 
more  than  twenty  roubles,  and  having  won  I receive 
nothing.” 

“ What  am  I to  pay  with  when  there  is  no  money  on 
the  table  ? ” said  the  cashier. 

“ That  is  not  my  business ! ” cried  the  major,  rising. 
“ I am  playing  with  you,  and  not  with  them.” 

The  perspiring  officer  suddenly  became  excited. 

“ I tell  you  I will  pay  to-morrow ; how  dare  you,  then, 
insult  me  ? ” 

“ I say  what  I please ! That  is  no  way  of  doing ! ” 
cried  the  major. 

“ Stop  it,  Fedor  F^dorych!”  they  all  said  at  once, 
keeping  back  the  major. 

But  we  will  draw  down  the  curtain  over  the  scene  im- 
mediately. To-morrow,  maybe  this  very  night,  every  one 
of  these  men  will  go  merrily  and  proudly  to  meet  death, 
and  will  die  firm  and  calm ; but  the  only  consolation  in 
life,  under  conditions  that  horrify  the  coldest  imagination, 
when  everything  humane  is  absent  and  there  is  no  hope 
of  emerging  from  the  horrors,  — the  only  consolation  is 
forgetfulness,  the  annihilation  of  consciousness.  At  the 
bottom  of  the  soul  of  each  of  them  lies  a noble  spark 
which  will  make  a hero  of  him ; but  this  spark  is  not 
burning  brightly,  — there  will  come  the  fatal  moment, 
and  it  will  burst  into  a flame  and  will  illumine  great 
deeds. 


XVII. 


On  the  following  day  the  bombardment  was  continued 
with  the  same  force.  At  about  eleven  o’clock  in  the 
morning,  Volodya  Kozeltsov  was  sitting  in  the  circle  of 
the  battery  officers,  and,  having  become  a little  accus- 
tomed to  them,  was  watching  the  new  faces,  observing, 
questioning,  and  himself  talking.  The  modest  conversa- 
tion of  the  artillerists,  with  a slight  pretence  at  learning, 
impressed  and  pleased  him,  while  the  shy,  innocent,  hand- 
some exterior  of  Volodya  gained  the  officers’  favour  for 
him. 

The  older  officer  of  the  battery,  a captain,  — an  under- 
sized, red-haired  man,  with  a tuft  on  his  crown,  and  with 
smooth  temples,  brought  up  in  the  old  traditions  of  the 
artillery,  a lady’s  man  and  presumably  learned,  — was  in- 
terested in  Volodya’s  knowledge  of  artillery,  asked  him 
about  new  inventions,  graciously  jested  about  his  youth 
and  handsome  face,  and,  in  general,  treated  him  like  a 
son,  which  was  extremely  agreeable  to  Volodya. 

Sub-Lieutenant  Dyadenko,  a young  officer  with  a Little- 
Eussian  accent,  in  a torn  overcoat  and  dishevelled  hair, 
talked  in  a loud  voice,  was  all  the  time  looking  for  a 
chance  for  a heated  dispute,  and  was  quick  in  all  his 
motions;  but  he  nevertheless  pleased  Volodya,  who  could 
not  help  noticing  under  this  coarse  exterior  a very  good 
and  exceedingly  kind  man.  Dyadenko  continually  offered 
his  services  to  Volodya,  and  proved  to  him  that  all  the 
ordnance  at  Sevastopol  was  not  placed  according  to  the 
rules. 

Lieutenant  Chernovitski,  with  high  arching  eyebrows 
440 


SEVASTOPOL 


441 


though  more  polite  than  the  rest,  and  dressed  in  a fairly 
clean  coat,  which,  if  it  was  not  new,  was  carefully  mended, 
and  showing  a gold  chain  on  his  velvet  waistcoat,  did  not 
please  Volodya.  He  kept  asking  what  the  emperor  and 
the  Minister  of  War  were  doing,  told  him  with  an  unnatural 
ecstasy  the  deeds  of  bravery  which  had  been  performed 
at  Sevastopol,  regretted  the  small  number  of  real  patriots, 
and,  in  general,  displayed  much  learning,  wit,  and  noble 
sentiments ; but  for  some  reason  or  other  all  this  seemed 
disagreeable  and  unnatural  to  Volodya.  The  main  thing 
was,  be  had  observed  that  the  other  officers  did  not  speak 
to  Chernovitski.  Yunker  Viang,  whom  he  had  awakened 
the  day  before,  was  there  also.  He  did  not  say  anything, 
but,  sitting  modestly  in  the  corner,  laughed  whenever 
anything  funny  was  said,  reminded  people  of  things  they 
had  forgotten,  and  passed  the  brandy  and  rolled  the  cigar- 
ettes for  the  officers.  Whether  it  was  the  modest,  civil 
bearing  of  Volodya,  who  treated  him  like  an  officer,  and 
did  not  disdain  him  like  a boy,  or  whether  it  was  his 
pleasant  exterior,  which  so  captivated  Vlanga  (as  the 
soldiers  called  him,  for  some  reason  or  other  making  his 
name  a feminine),  — he  did  not  take  his  large  kindly 
eyes  away  from  the  new  officer,  guessed  and  anticipated 
all  his  wishes,  and  all  the  time  dwrelt  in  a kind  of  amor- 
ous transport,  which,  of  course,  the  officers  noticed  and 
ridiculed. 

Before  dinner  the  staff-captain  was  relieved  in  the  bas- 
tion, and  he  joined  their  company.  Staff-Captain  Kraut 
was  a blond,  handsome,  audacious  officer,  with  long  sandy 
moustache  and  whiskers ; he  spoke  Russian  excellently, 
but  a little  too  well  and  too  regularly  for  a Russian.  In 
his  service  and  in  life  he  was  the  same  as  with  his  lan- 
guage ; he  served  beautifully,  was  an  excellent  companion, 
a most  reliable  man  in  monetary  affairs ; but  simply,  as  a 
man,  even  because  everything  was  so  good,  there  was 
something  lacking.  Like  all  Russian  Germans  he  was 


442 


SEVASTOPOL 


in  strange  contradistinction  to  the  ideal  German  Germans, 
in  the  highest  degree  practical. 

“ Here  he  is  coming,  our  hero ! ” said  the  captain,  as 
Kraut  entered  the  room,  waving  his  arms  and  clattering 
with  his  spurs.  “ What  do  you  prefer,  Friedrich  Kres- 
tydnych,  tea  or  brandy  ? ” 

“ I have  ordered  tea  got  ready  for  me,  but  in  the  mean- 
time I will  take  a dram  to  soothe  my  spirit.  Very  happy 
to  make  your  acquaintance  ; I beg  you  to  have  me  in  your 
graces,”  he  said  to  Volodya,  who,  rising,  saluted  him. 
"Staff-Captain  Kraut — The  cannoneer  in  the  bastion 
told  me  that  you  arrived  yesterday.” 

“ I am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  bed : I slept 
on  it.” 

“ But  did  you  rest  well  ? One  of  its  legs  is  broken ; 
but  there  is  no  time  to  fix  it,  — we  are  in  a stage  of 
siege,  — something  ought  to  be  put  under.” 

“ Have  things  gone  well  while  you  were  on  duty  ? ” 
asked  Dyad^nko. 

“ Passable.  Only  Skvortsov  caught  it,  and  one  gun- 
carriage  was  mended  yesterday.  They  had  smashed  the 
cheek  into  splinters.” 

He  rose  from  his  seat  and  began  to  walk  around ; it 
was  evident  he  was  under  the  influence  of  the  pleasant 
sensation  of  a man  who  has  just  escaped  a danger. 

"Well,  Dmitri  Gavrllych,”  he  said,  shaking  the  cap- 
tain’s knees,  “ how  are  you  getting  on  ? How  is  your 
advancement  ? Still  mum  ? ” 

“ Nothing  yet.” 

“ And  there  will  be  nothing,”  said  Dyad^nko.  “ I 
have  proved  it  to  you  before.” 

“ Why  not  ? ” 

“ Because  you  did  not  make  the  right  report.” 

“ Always  disputing ! ” said  Kraut,  smiling  merrily. 
u You  are  a real  stubborn  Little-Kussian ! And  just  to 
annoy  you,  you  will  get  a lieutenancy.” 


SEVASTOPOL 


442 


“ No,  I won't.” 

“ Viang ! Please  fetch  my  pipe,  and  fill  it  for  me,”  he 
said,  turning  to  the  yunker,  who  obligingly  ran  away  to 
fetch  the  pipe. 

Kraut  animated  them  all : he  told  of  the  bombardment, 
asked  for  the  news  during  his  absence,  and  talked  with 
everybody. 


XVIII. 


“Well?  Are  you  all  settled  here,  among  us?”  Kraut 
asked  Volodya.  “ Pardon  me,  what  is  your  name  and  pat- 
ronymic ? Such  is  the  custom  with  us,  in  the  artillery. 
Have  you  supplied  yourself  with  a riding-horse  ? ” 

“No,”  said  Volodya,  “I  do  not  know  what  to  do.  I 
told  the  captain  that  I had  no  horse  and  no  money,  unless 
I got  my  forage  and  travelling  money.  I should  like  for 
the  time  being  to  ask  the  commander  of  the  battery  for  a 
horse,  but  I am  afraid  he  will  refuse  it.” 

“ Apollon  Sergyeich ! ” and  he  produced  a sound  with 
his  lips,  expressive  of  strong  doubt,  and  glanced  at  the 
captain.  “ Hardly  ! ” 

“ Well,  if  he  does  refuse,  there  will  be  no  great  misfor- 
tune,” said  the  captain.  “ To  tell  the  truth,  no  horses  are 
needed  here.  Still,  we  might  try  ; I will  ask  him  to-day.” 
“ You  evidently  do  not  know  him,”  Dyadenko  put  in 
his  word.  “Whatever  else  he  may  refuse,  he  will  not 
refuse  the  horse.  Do  you  want  to  wager  ? ” 

“ Of  course,  you  must  contradict,  as  usual.” 

“ I contradict  because  I know.  He  is  stingy  on  every- 
thing else,  but  he  will  give  horses,  because  it  is  not  to  liis 
interest  to  refuse  them.” 

“ How  can  he  help  refusing  them  when  oats  are  at 
eight  roubles  ? ” said  Kraut.  “ It  is  to  his  interest  not  to 
keep  a superfluous  horse  ! ” 

“ Ask  for  Starling,  Vladimir  Semenych  ! ” said  Viang, 
returning  with  Kraut’s  pipe.  “ It  is  an  excellent  horse.” 


SEVASTOPOL 


445 


“ From  which  you  fell  into  a ditch  at  Magpie-ville ' 
Ah  ? Vlanga  ? ” remarked  the  staff-captain. 

« What  of  it  if  oats  are  at  eight  roubles,  as  you  say/: 
Dyad4nko  continued  to  dispute,  “ if  he  marks  it  down  at 
ten  and  a half.  Of  course  it  is  to  his  interest.” 

« Why  should  there  not  something  stick  to  his  hands  ? 
If  you  were  the  commander  of  a battery,  you  would  not 
let  a horse  go  down-town  ! ” 

“ When  I shall  be  commander  of  a battery,  my  horses 
will  get  four  measures  of  grain  a day,  and  I will  not 
make  anything  on  them.” 

“ We  shall  see,”  said  the  staff-captain.  “ You  will  do 
just  the  same,  and  so  will  he,  when  he  commands  a bat- 
tery,” he  added,  pointing  to  Volodya. 

“ What  makes  you  think,  Friedrich  Krestyanyeh,  that 
he  will  take  advantage  of  his  position  ? ” Chernovltski 
chimed  in.  “ Maybe  he  has  wealth  of  his  own,  and  won’t 
have  to  take  advantage.” 

“No,  I — pardon  me,  captain,”  said  Volodya,  blushing 
up  to  his  ears.  “ I regard  this  as  ignoble.” 

“ Oho  ! He  has  grit ! ” said  Kraut. 

“ It  seems  to  me  like  this : if  it  is  not  my  money,  I 
have  no  right  to  take  it.” 

“But  let  me  tell  you  something,  young  man,”  the 
captain  began,  in  a more  serious  tone.  “ You  know,  that 
when  you  command  a battery,  nothing  will  be  said, 
provided  you  do  things  right ; the  commander  of  the 
battery  does  not  interfere  with  the  commissary  stores  of 
the  soldiers,  — such  has  been  the  custom  in  the  artillery 
since  time  immemorial.  If  you  are  a poor  master,  you 
will  have  nothing  left.  Now,  this  is  what  you  have  to 
spend  money  on,  contrary  to  regulations : for  shoeing  — 
one  (he  bent  one  finger) ; for  the  drugs  — two  (he  bent 
another  finger) ; for  the  chancery  — three ; for  off  horses 
you  have  to  pay  as  high  as  five  hundred  roubles  apiece, 
my  dear  — that  is  four ; you  must  change  the  soldiers' 


446 


SEVASTOPOL 


collars ; much  money  goes  for  coal ; you  board  the  officers. 
If  you  are  a commander  of  a battery,  you  have  to  live  in 
proper  style:  you  need  a carriage,  a fur  coat,  and  this 
and  that  — what  is  the  use  of  mentioning  it  all  ? ” 

“ But  above  everything  else,”  interrupted  the  captain, 
who  had  all  the  time  kept  silent.  “ You  must  consider 
this,  Vladimir  Sem£nych : take  a man  like  me,  — he  has 
to  serve  twenty  years,  first  at  a salary  of  two  hundred, 
and  then  at  three  hundred  roubles.  Why  should  he  not 
in  his  old  age  provide  a piece  of  bread  for  himself  ? ” 

“ What’s  the  use  of  talking  ? ” again  spoke  the  staff-cap- 
tain. “ Don’t  be  in  a hurry  to  pass  an  opinion.  Serve 
awhile,  and  then  judge.” 

Volodya  was  dreadfully  embarrassed  and  ashamed  for 
having  expressed  himself  without  proper  consideration, 
and  he  mumbled  something  and  continued  to  listen  in 
silence,  while  Dyad^nko  was  with  the  greatest  passion 
disputing  the  matter  and  proving  the  opposite. 

The  discussion  was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of 
the  colonel’s  orderly,  calling  to  dinner. 

“ Tell  Apollon  Sergy4ich  to  serve  some  wine,”  said 
Chernovitski,  buttoning  his  coat,  to  the  captain.  “ What 
makes  him  so  stingy  ? If  he  is  killed,  nobody  will  get 
anything ! ” 

“ Tell  him  yourself ! ” 

“ No,  you  are  the  senior  officer:  it  is  necessary  to  have 
order  in  everything.” 


XIX. 


The  table  was  removed  from  the  wall,  and  covered  with 
a soiled  cloth,  in  the  very  room  where  Volodya  had  re- 
ported to  the  colonel  the  evening  before.  The  commander 
of  the  battery  this  time  gave  him  his  hand,  and  asked 
him  about  St.  Petersburg  and  the  journey. 

“ Well,  gentlemen,  he  who  drinks  brandy,  let  him  help 
himself.  Ensigns  don’t  drink,”  he  added,  smiling. 

The  commander  of  the  battery  did  not  seem  as  stern 
as  on  the  previous  day ; on  the  contrary,  he  had  the 
appearance  of  a kind,  hospitable  host  and  a senior  comrade 
of  the  officers.  Nevertheless,  all  the  officers,  from  the  old 
captain  down  to  Ensign  Dyad^nko,  expressed  their  great 
respect  for  him,  by  their  manner  of  speech,  while  looking 
deferentially  into  his  eyes,  and  by  the  shy  reserve  with 
which  they  went  up  one  after  another  to  take  a drink  of 
brandy. 

The  dinner  consisted  of  a large  bowl  of  beet  soup,  in 
which  swam  around  fat  pieces  of  beef  and  an  immense 
quantity  of  pepper  and  laurel  leaves,  of  Polish  forcemeat 
with  mustard,  and  of  tripe  with  not  very  fresh  butter. 
There  were  no  napkins,  the  spoons  were  of  tin  and  wood, 
there  were  only  two  glasses,  and  on  the  table  stood  only 
a decanter  of  water  with  a broken  neck ; but  the  dinner 
was  not  dull : the  conversation  never  flagged. 

At  first,  the  conversation  turned  on  the  battle  at  Inker- 
man,  in  which  the  battery  had  taken  part ; each  one  gave 
his  impressions  and  reflected  on  the  causes  of  its  failure, 
and  stopped  speaking,  every  time  the  commander  had 

447 


448 


SEVASTOPOL 


anything  to  say ; then  the  conversation  naturally  passed 
to  the  insufficiency  of  the  calibre  of  the  light  guns,  and  to 
the  new  lighter  cannon,  which  gave  Volodya  a chance 
to  display  his  knowledge  of  artillery.  The  conversation 
did  not  dwell  on  the  present  terrible  condition  of  Sevasto- 
pol, as  though  each  had  been  thinking  too  much  of  the 
subject  to  mention  it.  Similarly,  the  duties  of  the  service, 
which  were  to  devolve  on  Volodya,  were  not  referred  to 
at  all,  to  his  surprise  and  mortification,  as  though  he  had 
arrived  in  Sevastopol  only  to  tell  of  the  lighter  guns,  and 
to  dine  with  the  commander  of  the  battery.  During  their 
dinner,  a bomb  fell  not  far  from  the  house  where  they 
were  sitting.  The  floor  and  walls  shook  as  from  an  earth- 
quake, and  the  windows  were  shrouded  by  a powder 
smoke. 

“ I suppose  you  have  not  seen  anything  like  this  in  St. 
Petersburg ; here  we  get  such  surprises  often,”  said  the 
commander  of  the  battery. 

“ Viang,  go  and  see  where  it  has  exploded.” 

Viang  went  out  and  reported  that  it  was  in  the  square, 
and  that  w^as  the  last  thing  said  about  the  bomb. 

Just  before  the  end  of  the  dinner,  an  old  man,  the  scribe 
of  the  battery,  entered  the  room  with  three  sealed  en- 
velopes, which  he  handed  to  the  commander  of  the 
battery. 

* This  one  is  very  pressing.  A Cossack  has  brought  it 
from  the  chief  of  artillery.” 

All  the  officers  looked  in  impatient  expectancy  at  the 
fingers  of  the  commander,  which  were  quite  used  to  break- 
ing such  seals,  and  which  took  out  the  very  pressing 
document.  “ What  could  it  be  ? ” each  one  asked  himself. 
It  might  mean  leaving  Sevastopol  altogether,  taking  a 
rest,  or  an  order  for  the  whole  battery  to  take  up  positions 
in  the  bastions. 

“ Again ! ” said  the  commander  of  the  battery,  angrily 
flinging  the  paper  on  the  table. 


SEVASTOPOL 


449 


“ What  is  it,  Apollon  Sergyeich  ? ” asked  the  senior 
officer. 

“ They  are  asking  for  an  officer  with  the  crew  for  some 
mortar  battery.  As  it  is,  I lack  four  officers  and  the  crew 
for  the  full  complement,”  grumbled  the  commander  of  the 
battery,  “ and  they  want  to  take  away  another — Well, 
somebody  will  have  to  go,  gentlemen,”  he  said,  after  a 
moment’s  silence.  “ The  order  is  to  be  on  the  barricade  a^ 
seven  o’clock  — Send  for  the  sergeant ! Gentlemen 
who  will  go  ? Decide,”  he  repeated. 

“ He  has  not  been  yet,”  said  Chernovitski,  pointing  t*' 
Volodya. 

The  commander  of  the  battery  made  no  reply. 

“Yes,  I should  like  to,”  said  Volodya,  feeling  a cold 
perspiration  on  his  back  and  neck. 

“ Why  should  he  ? ” the  captain  interrupted  him.  “ 0^ 
course,  no  one  will  refuse,  neither  would  one  beg  for  the 
favour ; if  Apollon  Sergy&ch  leaves  the  matter  to  us,  let 
us  cast  lots,  as  we  did  the  last  time.” 

Everybody  agreed  to  it.  Kraut  cut  some  slips  of  paper* 
rolled  them  up,  and  threw  them  into  a cap.  The  captain 
was  playful  and  even  had  the  courage  to  ask  the  colonei 
for  some  wine,  in  order  to  brace  himself,  as  he  said* 
Dyad4nko  was  gloomy,  Volodya  had  a smile  on  his  face. 
Chernovitski  insisted  that  he  would  have  to  go,  and  Krau** 
was  entirely  at  ease. 

Volodya  was  the  first  to  draw.  He  picked  up  a papei 
which  was  longer  than  the  rest,  but  it  suddenly  occurred 
to  him  to  exchange  it  for  another,  which  was  smaller  and 
thinner,  and,  upon  opening  it,  he  read,  “ To  go ! ” 

“ I have  to,”  he  said,  with  a sigh. 

“ Well,  God  protect  you  ! You’ll  get  your  fire  baptism 
at  once,”  said  the  commander  of  the  battery,  glancing  with 
a kindly  smile  at  the  disturbed  face  of  the  ensign.  “ Get 
ready  at  once ! To  make  it  more  cheerful  for  you,  Viang 
will  go  with  you  as  gun-sergeant.” 


XX. 


Vlang  was  exceedingly  well  satisfied  with  his  appoint- 
ment, ran  at  once  to  get  ready,  and,  all  dressed  up,  came 
back  to  help  Volodya;  he  tried  to  persuade  him  to  take 
along  a cot,  a fur  coat,  some  old  numbers  of  the  “ Memoirs 
of  the  Fatherland,”  the  coffee-pot  with  the  spirit-lamp, 
and  other  unnecessary  things.  The  captain  advised  Vo- 
lddya  first  to  read  from  the  Manual  about  the  firing  from 
mortars,  and  to  copy  out  the  tables.  Volodya  at  once 
sat  down  to  work,  and,  to  his  agreeable  surprise,  he  dis- 
covered that,  although  he  was  still  disturbed  by  the  terror 
of  the  danger  and  even  more  by  his  dread  of  being  a 
coward,  these  feelings  were  not  so  powerful  as  on  the  pre- 
vious day.  This  was  partly  due  to  the  influence  of  daylight 
and  his  activity,  and  partly  to  the  fact  that  fear,  like 
every  powerful  sensation,  cannot  last  in  the  same  measure 
for  any  length  of  time.  In  short,  he  had  emerged  from  his 
affright.  At  about  seven  o’clock,  just  as  the  sun  was 
beginning  to  set  behind  the  Nicholas  barracks,  the  ser- 
geant entered  and  announced  that  the  men  were  in  readi- 
ness, and  waiting  for  him. 

“ I have  given  Vlanga  the  list.  Please  ask  him  for  it, 
your  Honour  ! ” he  said. 

About  twenty  artillerymen,  in  short  swords  without 
their  loading  implements,  were  standing  around  the  cor- 
ner of  the  house.  Volodya  walked  over  to  them  with  the 
yunker. 

“ Shall  I deliver  a short  speech  to  them,  or  simply  say, 
‘Good  evening,  boys!’  and  nothing  else?”  he  thought. 

450 


SEVASTOPOL 


451 


4t  Why  should  I not  say,  ‘ Good  evening,  boys ! 9 It  is  cer- 
tainly proper.”  He  boldly  shouted  in  his  sonorous  voice, 
“ Good  evening,  boys  ! ” The  soldiers  cheerfully  returned 
the  greeting ; his  youthful,  fresh  voice  rang  agreeably  to 
their  ears. 

Volddya  marched  briskly  at  the  head  of  the  soldiers, 
and  though  his  heart  beat  as  though  he  had  run  several 
versts  at  full  speed,  his  gait  was  light  and  his  face  cheer- 
ful. As  they  were  ascending  the  hill  leading  to  the 
Malakhov  Mound,  he  noticed  that  Viang,  who  did  not 
fall  a step  behind  him,  and  who  at  home  had  the  appear- 
ance of  such  a courageous  man,  constantly  walked  to  one 
side  and  lowered  his  head,  as  though  all  the  bombs  and 
shells,  which  were  whistling  past  with  extraordinary  fre- 
quency, were  flying  straight  at  him.  A few  of  the  soldiers 
acted  in  the  same  manner,  and  in  most  faces,  in  general, 
was  expressed  restlessness,  if  not  fear.  These  circum- 
stances completely  calmed  Volodya  and  gave  him  cour- 
age. 

“ So,  here  I am  myself  on  the  Malakhov  Mound,  which 
I had  imagined  a thousand  times  more  terrible ! I,  too, 
can  walk  without  stooping  before  the  shells,  and  I am 
less  frightened  than  the  rest ! So  I am  not  a coward ! ” 
he  thought,  with  delight  and  even  with  a certain  measure 
of  rapturous  self-satisfaction. 

This  sentiment  was  soon  shaken  by  the  spectacle  which 
he  encountered  at  dusk  in  the  Kornilov  battery,  while 
trying  to  find  the  chief  of  the  bastion.  Four  sailors,  near 
the  breastwork,  were  holding  a blood-stained  corpse  of  a 
soldier  without  boots  and  overcoat,  and  were  swinging  it, 
in  their  attempt  to  throw  it  over  the  breastwork.  (On 
the  second  day  of  the  bombardment  they  did  not  in  all 
places  succeed  in  taking  all  the  bodies  away  from  the 
bastions,  and  so  they  threw  them  into  the  ditch  in  order 
to  get  them  out  of  the  way.) 

Volddya  stood  petrified  for  a minute  when  he  saw  the 


452 


SEVASTOPOL 


body  strike  the  top  of  the  breastwork  and  then  roll  down 
into  the  ditch ; but,  fortunately  for  him,  he  here  met  the 
chief  of  the  bastion,  who  gave  him  his  orders  and  provided 
him  with  a guide  to  take  him  to  the  battery  and  to  the 
blindage  intended  for  his  crew.  We  shall  not  stop  to 
tell  how  many  more  dangers  and  disenchantments  our 
hero  passed  through  on  that  night ; how,  instead  of  the 
firing  which  he  had  seen  on  the  Volkhov  Field,  under  all 
the  conditions  of  precision  and  order,  which  he  had 
expected  to  find  here,  he  found  two  smashed  mortars,  the 
mouth  of  one  of  which  had  been  dented  by  a cannon-ball, 
while  the  other  was  standing  on  the  splinters  of  a demol- 
ished platform ; how  he  could  not  get  any  workmen 
before  morning,  in  order  to  mend  the  platform ; how  not 
a single  charge  was  of  the  weight  laid  down  in  the 
Manual ; how  two  soldiers  under  his  command  were 
wounded ; and  how  his  life  had  been  hanging  on  a hair 
more  than  twenty  times. 

Luckily  he  was  assisted  by  a gun-captain  of  enormous 
size,  a sailor,  who  had  been  with  the  mortars  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  siege,  and  who  convinced  him  of  the  possi- 
bility of  putting  them  in  action.  He  led  him,  with  a 
lamp  in  his  hand,  all  night  through  the  bastion,  as  though 
it  were  his  garden,  and  promised  to  fix  everything  in  the 
morning. 

The  blindage  to  which  his  guide  took  him  had  been 
dug  out  in  the  stony  ground ; it  was  an  elongated  ditch 
of  about  two  cubic  fathoms  in  size,  covered  with  oak  yard 
beams.  Here  he  took  up  his  position  with  all  his  sol- 
diers. The  moment  Viang  caught  sight  of  the  low  three- 
foot  door  of  the  blindage,  he  rushed  headlong  into  it 
before  all  the  rest,  and  almost  hurt  himself  against  the 
stone  floor,  in  trying  to  reach  the  farthest  corner,  from 
which  he  did  not  emerge.  When  all  the  soldiers  had 
seated  themselves  on  the  floor  along  the  wall,  and  some 
of  them  had  lighted  their  pipes,  Volodya  arranged  his  bed 


SEVASTOPOL 


453 


in  the  corner,  lighted  a candle,  began  to  smoke  a cigarette, 
and  lay  down  on  the  cot. 

Above  the  blindage  continuous  reports  were  heard, 
but  not  very  loudly  except  from  one  gun,  which  stood 
near  by,  and  with  its  booming  shook  the  blindage.  In 
the  blindage  itself,  everything  was  quiet ; but  now  and 
then  the  soldiers,  still  feeling  strange  before  their  new 
officer,  would  talk  softly  to  each  other,  asking  this  one 
to  move  a little  and  that  one  to  give  them  a light  for 
their  pipes ; or  a rat  was  scratching  somewhere  between 
the  stones ; or  Viang,  who  had  not  yet  regained  his  com- 
posure, and  wildly  looked  about  him,  suddenly  uttered  a 
loud  sigh.  Volodya  on  his  bed,  in  his  quiet  corner 
crowded  by  people  and  lighted  up  by  one  candle,  experi- 
enced the  sensation  of  comfort  which  used  to  come  over 
him  when  as  a child  he  played  hide-and-seek  and  con- 
cealed himself  in  the  safe,  or  under  his  mother’s  skirt, 
where,  not  daring  to  breathe,  he  listened  attentively,  and 
was  afraid  of  the  darkness,  but  at  the  same  time  derived 
pleasure  from  it.  He  was  both  a little  ill  at  ease  and 
cheerful. 


XXL 


Some  ten  minutes  later  the  soldiers  grew  bolder,  and 
began  to  converse.  Near  the  light  and  the  officer's  bed, 
two  soldiers  of  more  importance,  being  cannoneers,  had 
taken  up  their  position : one  of  them  was  gray-haired  and 
old,  and  had  all  the  medals  but  the  Cross  of  St.  George ; 
the  other,  a young  cantonist,1  was  smoking  twisted 
cigarettes.  The  drummer,  as  usual,  took  upon  himself 
the  duty  of  waiting  on  the  officer.  The  bombardiers  and 
cavaliers  sat  next,  and  farther  in  the  shadow,  near  the 
door,  the  “ submissive  ” took  up  their  seats.  It  was  among 
the  latter  that  the  conversation  began.  The  cause  for  it 
was  the  noise  produced  by  a man  who  darted  into  the 
blindage. 

“Well,  brother,  you  could  not  sit  it  out  in  the  street? 
Are  the  girls  singing  merry  songs  ? ” said  one  voice. 

“ They  are  singing  marvellous  songs,  such  as  we  have 
never  heard  in  the  village,"  said,  smiling,  the  man  who 
had  rushed  into  the  blindage. 

“Vasin  is  not  fond  of  bombs,  no,  he  isn't!”  said  one 
in  the  aristocratic  corner. 

“ Well,  when  there  is  any  need,  it  is  a different  matter  ! ” 
slowly  spoke  Vasin,  and  whenever  he  said  something,  all 
the  others  kept  silent.  “ On  the  24th  there  was  a terrible 
fire ; but  what  is  there  bad  in  this  ? You  will  only  be 
killed  uselessly,  and  the  authorities  don’t  say  * Thanks  * 
to  us  fellows  for  it.” 


1 Soldiers  brought  up  since  early  childhood  in  special  colonies 
called  cantons. 

454 


SEVASTOPOL 


455 


At  these  words  of  Vasin  all  laughed. 

“ Now  there  is  Melnikov,  and  he  is  all  the  time  sitting 
outside,”  somebody  remarked. 

“ Call  him  in,  that  Melnikov,1 ” added  the  old  cannoneer. 
“ Eeally,  he  will  be  only  killed,  for  nothing.” 

“ Who  is  that  Melnikov  ? ” asked  Volodya. 

“ One  of  our  foolish  soldiers,  your  Honour.  He  is 
afraid  of  absolutely  nothing,  and  is  all  the  time  walking 
about  outside.  You  ought  to  see  him : he  looks  just  like 
a bear.” 

“He  knows  a charm,”  Vasin  said,  in  a drawling  voice, 
from  the  farther  corner. 

Melnikov  entered  the  blindage.  He  was  stout  (this  is 
extraordinary  among  soldiers),  red-haired,  and  red  in  his 
face,  with  an  enormous  arched  brow,  and  bulging,  light 
blue  eyes. 

“Are  you  afraid  of  the  bombs  ?”  Volodya  asked  him. 

“ What  sense  is  there  in  being  afraid  of  bombs  ? ” re- 
plied Melnikov,  crouching,  and  scratching  himself.  “ I 
sha’n’t  be  killed  by  a bomb,  I know  that.” 

“ So  you  would  like  to  live  here  ? ” 

“ Of  course,  I should  like  to.  It  is  jolly  here  ! ” he 
said,  suddenly  bursting  forth  in  a laugh. 

“ Then  we  shall  have  to  take  you  out  on  a sortie  ! If 
you  want  to,  I will  tell  the  general,”  said  Volodya,  though 
he  did  not  know  a single  general. 

“ Why  should  I not  want  to  go  ? I do  want  to  ! ” 

Melnikov  disappeared  behind  the  others. 

“ Let  us  play  at  noski}  boys  ! Who  has  cards  ? ” was 
heard  his  hurried  voice. 

Indeed,  in  a short  time  a game  was  started  in  the  far- 
ther corner,  and  one  could  hear  them  striking  the  nose, 
laughing,  and  calling  trumps.  Volodya  drank  some  tea 
from  the  samovar,  wdiich  the  drummer  had  made  for  him, 

1 A game  at  cards,  in  which  the  loser  is  struck  on  the  nose  with 
the  cards. 


456 


SEVASTOPOL 


treated  the  cannoneers,  joked,  talked  with  them,  wishing  to 
become  popular  with  them,  and  was  very  much  satisfied 
with  the  respect  which  they  showed  him.  The  soldiers, 
too,  talked  more  freely  when  they  noticed  that  their 
officer  was  a simple  man.  One  of  them  was  saying  that 
the  siege  of  Sevastopol  would  soon  be  raised,  because  a 
reliable  naval  man  had  told  him  that  Constantine,  the 
Tsar’s  brother,  was  coming  to  our  relief  with  a Merican 
fleet,  and  that  soon  there  would  be  made  a truce  not  to 
fire  for  two  weeks,  and  whosoever  should  fire  would  have 
to  pay  seventy-five  kopeks  for  every  shot. 

Vasin,  who,  as  Volodya  could  make  out,  was  a small 
man,  with  large,  kindly  eyes  and  with  whiskers,  told, 
amidst  a universal  silence,  and  then  laughter,  how,  when 
he  had  gone  home  on  a leave  of  absence,  they  were  at 
first  delighted  to  see  him,  but  how  later  his  father  sent 
him  out  to  work  and  the  forester  sent  his  carriage  for  his 
wife.  All  this  amused  Volodya  greatly.  He  not  only 
did  not  experience  the  slightest  fear  or  displeasure  from 
the  closeness  and  oppressive  odour  in  the  blindage,  but 
everything  was  cheerful  and  pleasant  to  him. 

Many  soldiers  were  snoring.  Viang,  too,  had  stretched 
himself  out  on  the  floor,  and  the  old  cannoneer,  having 
spread  his  overcoat  and  making  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
was  mumbling  some  prayers  before  his  sleep,  when  Vo- 
lodya took  it  into  his  head  to  go  out  and  see  what  was 
going  on. 

“ Remove  your  legs ! ” the  soldiers  cried  to  each  other, 
when  he  got  up,  and  the  legs  drew  back  and  made  a way 
for  him. 

Viang,  who  seemed  to  be  asleep,  suddenly  raised  his 
head  and  took  Volodya  by  the  fold  of  his  overcoat. 

“ Don’t  go,  I beg  you  ! What’s  the  use  ? ” he  said,  in 
a tone  of  tearful  persuasiveness.  “ You  do  not  know, 
evidently,  that  the  shells  are  falling  there  all  the  time  * 
it  is  better  here.” 


SEVASTOPOL 


457 


In  spite  of  Viang’s  entreaties,  Volodya  made  his  way 
out  of  the  blindage,  and  sat  down  on  the  threshold,  where 
Melnikov  was  already  sitting. 

The  air  was  pure  and  fresh,  — especially  as  compared 
with  the  blindage,  — and  the  night  was  clear  and  calm. 
Amidst  the  roar  of  the  cannonade  could  be  heard  the 
sounds  of  the  wheels  and  carts  that  brought  the  gabions, 
and  the  conversation  of  the  men  working  on  a powder- 
room.  Overhead  was  the  high  starry  heaven,  through 
which  constantly  flashed  the  fiery  streaks  of  the  bombs ; 
toward  the  left,  at  a distance  of  three  feet,  a small  open- 
ing led  into  another  blindage,  in  which  could  be  seen  the 
legs  and  backs  of  the  sailors  who  were  living  in  it,  and 
could  be  heard  their  voices;  in  front  was  visible  the 
elevation  of  the  powder-room,  past  which  flitted  the 
figures  of  stooping  men,  and  on  the  very  summit  of  which, 
under  the  bullets  and  bombs  which  uninterruptedly 
whistled  about  that  place,  stood  a tall  form  in  a black 
mantle,  with  its  hands  in  its  pockets,  stamping  down  the 
earth  which  others  brought  there  in  bags.  Quite  fre- 
quently a bomb  flew  by  and  burst  near  the  powder-room. 
The  soldiers  who  were  carrying  the  dirt  crouched  and 
sidled,  but  the  black  figure  did  not  move ; it  continued 
to  stamp  down  the  earth  with  its  feet,  remaining  all  the 
time  in  one  spot. 

“Who  is  that  black  figure?”  Volodya  asked  of  M4k 
nikov. 

“ I do  not  know.  I will  go  and  see.” 

“ Don’t  go  ! It  is  unnecessary.” 

But  M41nikov  paid  no  attention,  got  up,  walked  over 
to  the  man  in  black,  and  for  quite  awhile  stood  just  a* 
unconcerned  and  immovable  near  him. 

“ He  is  in  charge  of  the  powder-room,  your  Honour  ! ” 
he  said,  upon  returning.  “ The  powder-room  has  been 
torn  up  by  a bomb,  so  the  infantrymen  are  putting  on 
some  earth.” 


458 


SEVASTOPOL 


Occasionally  the  bombs  flew  straight  at  the  door  of 
the  blindage,  it  seemed.  Then  Volodya  pressed  himself 
into  the  corner,  and  again  came  out  to  see  whether  they 
were  flying  in  his  direction.  Though  Viang,  inside  the 
blindage,  entreated  him  several  times  to  come  back, 
Volodya  remained  about  three  hours  on  the  threshold, 
experiencing  a certain  pleasure  in  tempting  fate,  and 
watching  the  flight  of  the  bombs.  Toward  the  end  of 
the  evening  he  was  able  to  make  out  how  many  guns 
were  in  operation,  and  where  they  were  stationed,  and 
where  the  projectiles  lodged. 


XXII. 


On  the  following  day,  the  27th,  Volddya,  after  a ten 
hours'  sleep,  went  out  early  in  the  morning  on  the 
threshold  of  the  blindage,  feeling  refreshed  and  full  of 
life.  Viang  came  out  with  him,  but  at  the  first  sound 
of  a bullet  he  rushed  headlong  into  the  opening  of  the 
blindage,  making  a way  for  himself  with  his  head,  amidst 
the  universal  laughter  of  the  soldiers,  most  of  whom  had 
come  out  into  the  fresh  air.  Only  Viang,  the  old  cannoneer, 
and  a few  others  rarely  went  out  into  the  trench ; it  was 
impossible  to  keep  the  others  back : all  of  them  rushed 
out  of  the  foul  blindage  into  the  fresh  morning  air,  and, 
in  spite  of  the  bombardment,  which  continued  as  severe 
as  on  the  previous  day,  they  lay  down  near  the  threshold 
and  the  breastwork.  Melnikov  had  been  strolling  along 
the  batteries  ever  since  daybreak,  glancing  upwards  with 
indifference. 

Near  the  threshold  sat  two  old  soldiers  and  a young 
curly-headed  Jew,  who  had  been  detailed  from  the 
infantry.  This  Jew  picked  up  a bullet,  which  was  lying 
near  him,  and  with  a piece  of  iron  flattened  it  against 
a stone ; then  he  cut  out  of  it  with  a knife  a cross  resem- 
bling the  Cross  of  St.  George ; the  others  were  talking 
and  watching  his  work.  The  cross  was  really  well 
made. 

“ If  we  are  to  stay  here  any  length  of  time,”  said  one 
of  them,  “ we  shall  get  our  discharge  as  soon  as  peace  is 
concluded.” 


459 


460 


SEVASTOPOL 


“ Of  course.  I have  only  four  years  left  to  my  dis- 
charge, and  I have  passed  five  months  in  Sevastopol.” 

“ That  does  not  count  toward  the  discharge,  do  you 
hear  ? ” said  another. 

Just  then  a cannon-ball  whistled  past  the  heads  of  the 
speakers,  and  struck  the  ground  within  three  feet  of 
Melnikov,  who  was  walking  up  to  them  in  the  trench. 

“ It  almost  killed  Melnikov,”  said  one. 

“ No,  it  won’t,”  replied  Melnikov. 

“ Here,  take  this  cross  for  your  bravery,”  said  the 
young  soldier  who  had  made  the  cross,  and  handed  it 
to  Melnikov. 

“No,  brother,  here  a month  is  counted  a year,  — there 
was  such  an  order,”  they  continued  their  conversation. 

“ Take  it  as  you  please,  but  as  soon  as  peace  is  con- 
cluded, there  will  be  a review  by  the  Tsar  at  Warsaw, 
and  if  they  will  not  give  us  our  discharge,  they  will  give 
us  an  unlimited  leave  of  absence.” 

Suddenly  a whining,  deflected  bullet  flew  above  the 
heads  of  the  speakers,  and  struck  against  a stone. 

“ If  you  don’t  look  out,  you  will  get  a clear  discharge 
before  evening,”  said  one  of  the  soldiers. 

Everybody  laughed. 

And  not  as  late  as  the  evening,  but  two  hours  later, 
two  of  them  received  a clear  discharge,  and  five  were 
wounded ; but  the  rest  joked  as  before. 

In  the  morning  two  mortars  were  so  far  mended  that 
it  was  possible  to  shoot  from  them.  At  about  ten  o'clock, 
the  order  having  been  received  from  the  chief  of  the 
bastion,  Volodya  called  out  his  command,  and  with  it 
went  to  the  battery. 

Not  a particle  of  that  feeling  of  fear,  which  had  been 
expressed  in  the  soldiers’  faces  the  evening  before,  when 
they  first  came  out  for  their  work,  was  noticeable  in 
them  now.  Viang  alone  could  not  control  himself : 
he  kept  hiding  and  crouching  as  before,  and  Vasin  lost 


SEVASTOPOL 


461 


something  of  his  composure,  and  was  flurried  and  con- 
stantly squatted.  But  Volodya  was  in  a rapturous  state  : 
the  thought  of  danger  did  not  even  occur  to  him.  The 
joy  of  doing  his  duty,  of  finding  himself  not  only  not 
a coward,  but  even  a brave  man,  the  sensation  of  com- 
manding, and  the  presence  of  twenty  men,  who,  he  knew, 
watched  him  with  curiosity,  made  of  him  a gallant  fellow. 
He  was  even  proud  of  his  bravery,  showed  off  before  his 
soldiers,  walked  out  on  the  banquette,  and  purposely  un- 
buttoned his  overcoat  so  that  he  could  be  easily  noticed. 
The  chief  of  the  bastion,  who  at  this  time  was  making 
the  round  of  his  estate,  as  he  expressed  himself,  though 
he  had  become  accustomed  to  all  kinds  of  bravery  in  the 
last  eight  months,  could  not  help  admiring  this  handsome 
boy,  in  his  unbuttoned  overcoat,  beneath  which  could  be 
seen  a red  shirt  clasping  a white,  tender  neck,  with  his 
face  and  eyes  aflame,  clapping  his  hands,  and  command- 
ing in  a sonorous  voice,  “ First,  second !”  and  gaily 
rushing  out  on  the  breastwork  to  see  where  his  bomb 
would  settle.  At  half-past  eleven  the  firiug  died  down 
on  both  sides,  and  precisely  at  twelve  o’clock  began  the 
storming  of  the  second,  third,  and  fifth  bastions  of  the 
Malakhov  Mound. 


XXIII. 


On  the  nearer  side  of  the  bay,  between  Inkerman  and 
the  Northern  fortification,  on  a telegraph  mound,  two 
sailors  were  standing  about  noon*,  one,  an  officer,  was 
looking  through  the  telescope  at  Sevastopol,  and  the  other 
had  just  come  on  horseback  to  the  high  post  with  a 
Cossack. 

The  sun  stood  bright  and  high  above  the  bay,  which 
was  resplendent  with  a gay,  warm  sheen,  as  it  swayed  its 
moored  ships  and  moving  sails  and  boats.  A light  breeze 
bare]y  rustled  the  leaves  of  the  withering  oak  brush  near 
the  telegraph,  filled  the  sails  of  the  boats,  and  rocked  the 
waves.  Sevastopol,  the  same  as  before,  with  its  unfin- 
ished church,  its  column,  its  quay,  its  boulevard,  gleaming 
in  its  green  colour  on  the  hill,  its  artistic  library  building, 
its  diminutive  azure  inlets,  filled  with  masts,  its  pictur- 
esque aqueduct  arches,  and  its  clouds  of  blue  powder 
smoke,  now  and  then  illuminated  by  the  purple  flame 
of  the  gun  fires,  — the  same  proud,  festive  Sevastopol, 
surrounded  on  one  side  by  yellow  smoking  hills,  and  on 
the  other  by  the  bright  green  sea  glimmering  in  the 
sun,  was  visible  on  the  other  side  of  the  bay. 

Above  the  horizon  of  the  sea,  where  a streak  of  black 
smoke  rose  from  a steamer,  crept  a long  white  cloud, 
portending  a wind.  Along  the  whole  line  of  the  fortifica- 
tions, especially  along  the  hills  on  the  left  side,  constantly 
puffed  up  masses  of  thick,  compressed  white  smoke,  sev- 
eral at  a time,  accompanied  by  flashes  which  now  and 
then  gleamed  forth  even  in  the  bright  midday  light ; they 

462 


SEVASTOPOL 


463 


spread,  assuming  various  forms,  rose  in  the  air,  and  were 
tinged  with  darker  hues  against  the  sky.  These  puffs, 
flashing  now  here,  now  there,  had  their  birth  on  the  hills, 
in  the  batteries  of  the  enemy,  in  the  city,  and  high  up  in 
the  air.  The  sounds  of  explosions  were  never  interrupted, 
and,  mingling,  shook  the  air. 

About  noon  the  puffs  of  smoke  became  rarer  and  rarer, 
and  the  atmosphere  was  less  shaken  by  the  booming  of 
the  cannon. 

“ The  second  bastion  is  not  returning  the  fire  at  all,” 
said  the  officer  of  the  hussars,  who  was  on  horseback. 
“ It  is  all  smashed  ! It  is  terrible  ! ” 

“And  Malakhov  seems  to  be  returning  one  shot  to 
three  of  theirs,”  said  the  one  who  was  looking  through  the 
telescope.  “ It  drives  me  wild  to  hear  their  silence.  They 
are  continually  hitting  the  Kornilov  battery,  but  there  is 
no  reply.” 

“ Just  see  ! I told  you  that  they  always  stopped  bom- 
barding about  noon.  It  is  just  so  to-day.  Come,  let  us 
ride  to  our  breakfast  — they  are  waiting  for  us  — there  is 
no  use  looking  — ” 

“ Wait,  don’t  bother  me ! ” answered  the  one  who  was 
watching  through  the  glasses,  looking  with  unusual  curi- 
osity at  Sevastopol. 

“ What  is  it  ? What  ? ” 

“ There  is  some  motion  in  the  trenches : they  are 
marching  in  close  columns.” 

“ That  can  be  seen  with  the  naked  eye,”  said  the  sailor. 
“ They  are  marching  in  columns.  I must  give  a signal.” 

“ Look  there,  look ! They  have  come  out  of  the 
trenches.” 

In  fact,  it  could  be  seen  with  the  naked  eye  that  dark 
spots  were  moving  down  the  hill,  across  the  ravine,  from 
the  French  batteries  to  the  bastions.  In  front  of  these 
dots  could  be  observed  dark  streaks  near  our  line.  In  the 
bastions  the  white  smoke  of  shots  puffed  up  in  different 


464 


SEVASTOPOL 


places,  as  though  running  across.  The  wind  carried  the 
sound  of  an  uninterrupted  musketry  fire,  like  the  patter- 
ing  of  the  rain  against  the  window-panes.  The  black 
streaks  moved  about  in  the  smoke,  coming  nearer  and 
nearer.  The  sounds  of  the  fusilade,  growing  stronger  and 
stronger,  blended  into  one  prolonged,  rumbling  peal.  The 
smoke,  rising  more  and  more  frequently,  passed  rapidly 
along  the  line  and  finally  fused  into  one  contracting  and 
expanding  lilac  cloud,  in  which  now  and  then  flashed 
fires  and  black  dots.  All  the  sounds  were  united  in  one 
rumbling,  crackling  noise. 

“ An  assault ! ” said  the  officer,  with  a pale  face,  passing 
the  telescope  to  the  sailor. 

Cossacks  galloped  by  along  the  road.  Officers  on  horse- 
back, the  commander-in-chief  in  a carriage  and  accom- 
panied by  his  suite,  passed  by.  On  each  face  could  be 
seen  heavy  agitation  and  breathless  expectancy. 

“ It  is  impossible  they  should  have  taken  it ! ” said  the 
officer  on  horseback. 

“ Upon  my  word,  a banner ! Look  ! look  ! ” said  the 
other,  choking  with  excitement  and  going  away  from 
the  telescope.  “ A French  banner  on  Maldkhov  Mound.” 

“ Impossible ! ” 


XXIV. 


Kozelts6v  the  elder,  who  had  managed  in  the  night 
to  win  back  all  he  had  lost  and  again  to  lose  everything, 
even  the  gold  coins  which  were  sewn  into  the  lining,  was 
early  in  the  morning  sleeping  an  unhealthy,  oppressive, 
but  profound  sleep  in  the  defensive  barracks  of  the  fifth 
bastion  when,  repeated  by  different  voices,  the  fatal  cry 
was  passed. 

“ Alarm ! ” 

“ Get  up,  Mikhaylo  Sem^nych ! There  is  an  assault ! ” 
shouted  somebody. 

“ Some  schoolboy ,”  he  said,  incredulously,  opening  his 
eyes. 

But  suddenly  he  saw  an  officer  who  was  running  with- 
out any  obvious  purpose  from  one  corner  into  another  and 
with  such  a pale  face  that  he  understood  everything. 
The  thought  that  he  might  be  taken  for  a coward  who 
did  not  wish  to  go  out  with  his  company  at  a critical 
minute  affected  him  powerfully.  He  flew  to  his  company 
at  full  speed.  The  firing  from  the  ordnance  had  stopped, 
but  the  crackling  of  the  musketry  fire  was  at  full  blast. 
The  bullets  whistled  not  one  at  a time,  as  from  carbines, 
but  in  swarms,  like  birds  of  passage  in  the  autumn,  flying 
overhead.  The  whole  place,  where  the  day  before  had 
stood  his  battalion,  was  shrouded  in  smoke,  and  there  were 
heard  discordant  cries  and  shouts.  Soldiers,  wounded  and 
not  wounded,  he  encountered  in  throngs.  After  running 
some  thirty  paces  more  he  saw  his  company  pressing 
against  the  wall. 


465 


466 


SEVASTOPOL 


“ They  have  taken  Schwartz,”  said  a young  officer. 
“ Everything  is  lost ! ” 

“ Nonsense,”  he  said,  angrily,  drawing  his  small  dull 
iron  sword  and  shouting : 

“ Forward,  boys  ! Hurrah  ! ” 

His  voice  was  loud  and  sonorous.  It  awoke  Kozeltsov 
himself.  He  ran  ahead  along  the  traverse.  About  fifty 
soldiers  rushed  after  him.  He  ran  out  from  behind  the 
traverse  upon  the  open  square.  Bullets  flew  literally  like 
hail.  Two  of  them  struck  him  ; but  where,  and  what 
they  had  done,  whether  they  had  bruised  or  wounded 
him,  he  had  no  time  to  decide.  In  front  of  him  he  could 
in  the  smoke  see  blue  uniforms,  red  trousers,  and  hear  the 
sounds  of  a foreign  speech.  One  Frenchman  was  stand- 
ing on  the  breastwork,  waving  his  cap  and  shouting  some- 
thing. Kozeltsov  was  convinced  that  he  would  be  killed, 
and  this  gave  him  more  courage.  He  ran  forward,  ever 
onward.  A few  soldiers  outran  him.  Other  soldiers 
appeared  from  both  sides  and  were  running  too.  The 
blue  uniforms  remained  at  the  same  distance,  running 
from  him  back  to  their  trenches,  but  under  his  feet  he 
stepped  on  wounded  and  dead  soldiers.  Having  reached 
the  outer  ditch  everything  became  confused  in  Kozeltsov’s 
eyes  and  he  felt  a pj:in  in  his  breast. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  lay  on  a stretcher  near  the 
Nicholas  barracks  and  he  knew  that  he  was  wounded ; 
but  he  felt  hardly  any  pain.  All  he  wanted  was  to  get 
something  cold  to  drink  and  to  lie  down  quietly. 

A short  fat  doctor  with  large  black  whiskers  went  up 
to  him  and  unbuttoned  his  overcoat.  Kozeltsov  looked 
down  his  chin  at  what  the  doctor  was  doing  with  his 
wound  and  at  the  doctor’s  face,  but  he  felt  no  pain.  The 
doctor  covered  the  wound  with  the  shirt,  wiped  his  fingers 
on  the  folds  of  his  overcoat,  and  silently,  without  looking 
at  the  wounded  officer,  walked  over  to  another.  Kozel- 
ts<5v  unconsciously  followed  with  his  eyes  everything  that 


SEVASTOPOL 


467 


was  going  on  in  his  presence,  and,  recalling  what  had 
happened  in  the  fifth  bastion,  thought  with  an  extremely 
pleasant  sensation  of  self-satisfaction  of  his  having  well 
executed  his  duty,  of  having  for  the  first  time  during  his 
service  acted  well,  and  of  having  no  cause  whatsoever  for 
regrets.  The  doctor,  who  was  dressing  the  wound  of  an- 
other wounded  soldier,  pointed  to  Kozeltsov  and  said  some- 
thing to  a priest  with  a long  red  beard  who  was  standing 
near  by  with  a cross. 

“ Shall  I die  ? ” Kozeltsov  asked  the  priest,  when  the 
latter  went  up  to  him. 

The  priest  did  not  reply,  but  said  a prayer,  and  handed 
the  cross  to  the  wounded  man. 

Death  did  not  frighten  Kozeltsov.  He  took  the  cross 
with  his  feeble  hands,  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  and  sobbed. 

“ Well,  have  the  French  been  repulsed  ? ” he  firmly 
asked  the  priest. 

“ Victory  is  entirely  with  us,”  replied  the  priest,  in 
order  to  console  the  wounded  man,  concealing  from  him 
the  fact  that  on  Malakhov  Mound  the  French  banner  was 
already  floating. 

“ Thank  God,”  said  the  wounded  man,  unconscious  of 
the  tears  that  coursed  down  his  cheeks. 

The  thought  of  his  brother  for  an  instant  crossed  his 
mind.  “ God  grant  him  the  same  good  fortune ! ” he 
thought. 


XXY. 


But  a different  fate  awaited  Volodya.  He  was  listen- 
ing to  a fable,  which  Vasin  was  telling  him,  when  there 
came  the  shout,  “ The  French  are  coming !”  The  blood 
rushed  at  once  to  Volodya's  heart,  and  he  felt  his  cheeks 
grow  cold  and  pale.  He  remained  motionless  for  a 
second ; but,  on  looking  around,  he  saw  that  the  soldiers 
were  buttoning  their  overcoats  with  a great  deal  of  com- 
posure, and  leaving  the  blindage  one  after  another ; one 
of  them,  Melnikov  in  all  probability,  said,  jestingly : 

“ Meet  them  with  bread  and  salt,  boys  ! ” 

Volodya  crept  with  Viang,  who  did  not  leave  him  a 
pace's  length,  out  of  the  blindage,  and  ran  to  the  battery. 
There  was  no  artillery  fire,  neither  on  this,  nor  on  the 
other  side.  He  was  roused  not  so  much  by  the  sight  of 
the  soldiers'  composure,  as  at  the  yunker's  pitiable,  undis- 
guised cowardice.  “ Is  it  possible  I could  be  like  him  ? ” 
he  thought,  and  cheerfully  ran  to  the  breastwork,  near 
which  stood  his  mortars.  He  could  plainly  see  how  the 
French  were  running  straight  at  him  across  the  clear 
space,  and  how  crowds  of  them,  with  their  bayonets 
gleaming  in  the  sun,  were  stirring  in  the  nearest  trenches. 

A short,  broad-shouldered  man,  in  a zouave  uniform 
and  short  sword,  was  running  in  front  and  leaping  over 
ditches.  “Fire  the  canister-shot!"  shouted  Volodya, 
running  down  from  the  banquette ; but  the  soldiers  had 
taken  measures  without  him,  and  the  metallic  sound  of 
the  discharged  canister-shot  whistled  over  his  head,  first 
from  one  mortar,  and  then  from  the  other.  “ The  first ! 

408 


SEVASTOPOL 


469 


The  second ! ” commanded  Volodya,  running  along  from 
one  mortar  to  another,  entirely  forgetful  of  the  danger. 
On  both  sides  of  him  were  heard  the  crackling  of  the 
musketry  fire  of  our  epaulement,  and  the  shouts  of 
bustling  people. 

Suddenly  a piercing  cry  of  despair,  repeated  by  several 
voices,  was  heard  on  the  left : “ They  are  outflanking  us  ! 
They  are  outflanking  us  ! ” Volodya  turned  back  to  look 
in  the  direction  of  the  cries.  Some  twenty  Frenchmen 
appeared  from  behind.  One  of  them,  with  a black  beard, 
a handsome  man,  was  in  the  lead ; having  run  up  to 
within  ten  steps  of  the  battery,  he  stopped  and  fired 
straight  at  Volodya,  then  again  ran  toward  him.  For  a 
second  Volodya  stood  as  if  petrified,  and  did  not  trust  his 
eyes.  When  he  regained  his  senses  and  looked  around, 
the  blue  uniforms  appeared  in  front  of  him,  on  the  breast- 
work ; and  within  ten  paces  of  him  two  Frenchmen  were 
spiking  a cannon.  Around  him  was  no  one  but  Melni- 
kov, who  had  been  killed  at  his  side,  and  Viang,  who  had 
seized  a handspike  and,  with  a furious  expression  on  his 
face  and  with  downcast  pupils,  had  rushed  forward. 

“ Follow  me,  Vladimir  Semenych!  After  me!”  cried 
the  desperate  voice  of  Viang,  who  was  flourishing  the 
handspike  in  the  face  of  the  Frenchmen  who  had  come 
up  from  behind.  The  furious  figure  of  the  yunker  baffled 
them.  To  the  one  in  front  he  dealt  a blow  on  the  head, 
the  others  involuntarily  stopped,  and  Viang,  continually 
looking  around  and  crying,  “ After  me,  Vladimir  Seme- 
nych ! Why  do  you  stand  ? Eun ! ” dashed  down  to 
the  trench,  where  lay  our  infantry,  shooting  at  the 
French.  After  leaping  into  the  trench,  he  again  raised 
his  head  from  it,  to  see  what  his  beloved  ensign  was 
doing.  Something,  wrapped  in  an  overcoat,  was  lying 
prone  in  the  place  where  Volodya  had  been  standing,  and 
all  that  place  was  occupied  by  Frenchmen  firing  at  us. 


XXVI. 


Vlang  found  his  battery  on  the  second  defensive  line. 
Out  of  the  number  of  twenty  soldiers  who  had  been  with 
the  mortar  battery,  only  eight  had  saved  themselves. 

At  nine  o’clock  in  the  evening,  Ylang  with  his  battery 
crossed  to  the  Northern  side  on  a steamer  that  was  filled  with 
soldiers,  guns,  horses,  and  wounded.  There  was  no  firing. 
The  stars  gleamed  brightly  in  the  sky  as  on  the  previous 
night;  but  a stiff  breeze  was  agitating  the  sea.  In  the 
first  and  second  bastions  fires  flashed  low  to  the  ground ; 
explosions  shook  the  air  and  illuminated  about  them 
strange  black  objects  and  the  stones  that  were  flying  in 
the  air.  Something  was  on  fire  near  the  docks,  and  the 
re&  flames  were  reflected  in  the  water.  The  bridge,  filled 
with  people,  was  lighted  up  by  the  fire  from  the  Nicholas 
battery.  A large  flame  seemed  to  be  hovering  over  the 
water  on  the  distant  promontory  of  the  Alexander  battery, 
illuminating  the  lower  part  of  a cloud  of  smoke  that  hung 
over  it,  and  the  same  quiet,  bold,  distant  fires  glimmered 
on  the  sea  from  the  hostile  fleet.  A fresh  breeze  swayed 
the  bay.  In  the  light  of  the  burning  structures  could  be 
seen  the  masts  of  our  sinking  vessels  disappearing  deeper 
and  deeper  in  the  water. 

There  was  no  conversation  on  deck ; only,  between  the 
even  sounds  of  the  parted  waves  and  the  puffing  chimney, 
one  could  hear  the  horses  snorting  and  stamping  their 
feet  on  the  ferry,  the  orders  of  the  captain,  and  the  groans 
of  the  wounded.  Viang,  who  had  not  eaten  anything  the 
whole  day,  drew  a piece  of  bread  from  his  pocket  and 

470 


SEVASTOPOL 


471 


began  to  munch  it,  but  suddenly  he  thought  of  Vol<5dya, 
and  began  to  weep  so  loudly  that  the  soldiers,  who  sat 
near  him,  could  hear  it. 

“ I declare,  our  Vlanga  is  eating  bread  by  himself  and 
weeping  by  himself said  Vasin. 

“ Wonderful ! ” said  another. 

“ See  there,  they  have  set  fire  to  our  barracks,”  con- 
tinued he,  sighing.  “ How  many  of  our  brothers  have 
lost  their  lives  there  ! And  after  all  the  French  got  it ! ” 

“ At  least  we  got  out  alive,  and  the  Lord  be  praised  for 
that ! ” said  Vasin. 

“ Still  it  is  aggravating  ! ” 

“ What  is  aggravating  ? Do  you  suppose  he  will  have 
an  easy  time  here  ? Not  a bit  of  it ! You  will  see,  ours 
will  take  it  back ! No  matter  how  many  of  us  shall  be 
killed,  let  God  want  it,  and  the  emperor  wish  it,  and  it 
will  be  retaken ! Do  you  think  we  will  leave  it  to  him  ? 
Not  a bit  of  it ! Nothing  but  the  bare  walls  left : the 
bulwarks  are  blown  up  — he  has  placed  his  pennon  on 
the  Mound,  but  dares  not  go  down  to  the  city.” 

“ Just  wait,  we  will  square  up  accounts  with  you, — 
just  give  us  a chance,”  he  concluded,  addressing  the 
Frenchmen. 

“ Of  course  we  will ! ” said  another,  with  conviction. 

All  along  the  bastions  of  Sevastopol,  which  had  for  so 
many  months  been  boiling  with  such  extraordinary  ener- 
getic life,  which  had  for  so  many  months  seen  heroes 
taking  the  place  of  those  who  had  been  killed,  only  to 
die  themselves,  and  which  for  so  many  months  had 
inspired  terror,  hatred,  and  finally  the  raptures  of  the 
enemy,  all  along  the  bastions  of  Sevastopol  there  was 
nobody  left.  Everything  was  dead,  wild,  terrible,  but 
not  quiet;  the  work  of  destruction  was  still  going  on. 
On  the  uneven  ground,  ploughed  up  by  new  explosions, 
lay  everywhere  twisted  gun-carriages,  jamming  down  the 
corpses  of  Russian  and  French  soldiers;  heavy  cast-iron 


472 


SEVASTOPOL 


cannon,  for  ever  silenced  and  by  a tremendous  force  hurled 
down  into  ditches  and  half-covered  with  dirt,  bombs, 
shells ; again  corpses,  ditches,  splinters  of  beams,  of 
blindages,  and  again  silent  corpses  in  gray  and  blue  over- 
coats. All  this  was  frequently  convulsed  and  illuminated 
by  the  purple  flame  of  explosions,  which  continued  to 
shake  the  air. 

The  enemies  saw  that  something  incomprehensible  was 
taking  place  in  Sevastopol.  These  explosions  and  the 
dead  silence  in  the  bastions  made  them  shudder ; but  they 
did  not  dare  to  believe,  under  the  influence  of  the  quiet, 
forceful  defence  of  the  day,  that  their  imperturbable  foe 
had  disappeared,  and  they  awaited  in  silence,  without 
stirring,  and  with  trepidation,  the  end  of  the  gloomy 
night. 

The  army  of  Sevastopol,  like  the  sea  in  a gloomy,  bil- 
lowing night,  surging  and  receding,  and  agitatedly  quiv- 
ering in  all  its  mass,  swaying  near  the  bay,  on  the  bridge 
and  on  the  Northern  side,  moved  slowly  in  the  impene- 
trable darkness,  away  from  the  place,  where  it  had  left  so 
many  brave  brothers,  — away  from  the  place,  which  had 
been  watered  by  its  blood,  — from  the  place,  which  for 
eleven  months  had  withstood  an  enemy  twice  as  numerous, 
and  which  now  it  was  to  abandon  without  a battle. 

The  first  impression  of  this  order  was  incomprehen- 
sibly heavy  for  every  Eussian.  The  next  feeling  was 
a fear  of  being  pursued.  Men  felt  themselves  defenceless 
the  moment  they  left  the  places  where  they  had  been 
accustomed  to  fight,  and  with  trepidation  crowded  at  the 
entrance  of  the  bridge,  which  swayed  in  the  stiff  breeze. 
Clanking  their  bayonets  against  each  other,  crowding 
between  the  baggage  and  ordnance,  the  infantry  were 
making  their  way  with  difficulty;  officers  on  horseback 
carrying  orders  pushed  their  way  through  the  masses ; 
the  inhabitants  and  orderlies,  with  their  baggage  which 
was  not  permitted  across,  wept  and  entreated  in  vain ; the 


SEVASTOPOL 


473 


artillery,  with  rattling  wheels,  descended  to  the  bay, 
hastening  to  get  away  as  soon  as  possible. 

Aside  from  their  different  absorbing  occupations,  the  feel- 
ing of  self-preservation  and  the  desire  to  get  away  at  once 
from  this  terrible  place  of  death  was  present  in  the  soul  of 
each.  This  feeling  was  present  in  the  mortally  wounded 
soldier,  lying  among  five  hundred  similarly  wounded 
men,  on  the  stony  ground  of  the  St.  Paul’s  quay  and 
asking  for  death ; in  the  reserve  militiaman,  using  his 
utmost  effort  to  press  himself  into  the  dense  throng,  in 
order  to  make  way  for  the  general  on  horseback ; in  the 
general,  superintending  with  firmness  the  retreat  across 
the  bay,  and  restraining  the  undue  haste  of  the  soldiers ; 
in  the  sailor,  caught  in  the  moving  battalion  and  almost 
choked  to  death  by  a swaying  throng  ; in  the  wounded 
officer,  carried  on  a stretcher  by  four  soldiers,  who,  op- 
pressed by  the  congested  mass,  put  him  down  on  the 
ground  near  the  Nicholas  battery ; in  the  artillerist,  who, 
having  served  with  his  gun  for  sixteen  years,  was  now 
executing  an  order  of  his  superiors,  quite  incomprehensible 
to  him,  and  with  the  aid  of  his  comrades  pushing  the  gun 
down  the  steep  embankment  into  the  bay ; and  in  the 
sailors  of  the  fleet,  who,  having  scuttled  their  vessels, 
were  giving  way  on  the  boats  in  which  they  were  rowing 
away  from  them. 

Upon  reaching  the  other  side  of  the  bridge,  nearly  every 
soldier  took  off  his  cap  and  made  the  sign  of  the  cross.  But 
behind  this  feeling  was  another,  oppressive,  gnawing,  deeper 
feeling,  one  that  resembled  repentance,  shame,  and  anger. 
Nearly  every  soldier,  looking  from  the  Northern  side  upon 
deserted  Sevastopol,  sighed  with  an  inexpressible  bitter- 
ness in  his  heart,  and  swore  vengeance  on  the  foe. 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE 
FOREST 

The  Story  of  a Yunker 

1854-1855 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE 
FOREST 

The  Story  of  a Yunker 


I. 

In  midwinter  of  185-  the  division  of  our  battery 
was  doing  frontier  service  in  the  Great  Chechnya.  Hav- 
ing learned,  on  the  evening  of  the  14th  of  February,  that 
the  platoon,  which  I was  to  command  in  the  absence  of 
the  officer,  was  detailed  for  the  following  day  to  cut 
timber,  and  having  received  and  given  the  proper  orders 
on  that  very  evening,  I repaired  earlier  than  usual  to  my 
tent;  as  I did  not  have  the  bad  habit  of  warming  it  up 
with  burning  coal,  I lay  down  in  my  clothes  on  my  bed, 
which  was  constructed  of  paling,  drew  my  lambskin  cap 
down  to  my  eyes,  wrapped  myself  in  a fur  coat,  and  fell 
into  that  peculiar,  profound,  and  heavy  sleep  which  one 
sleeps  in  moments  of  alarm  and  agitation  before  an  im- 
minent peril.  The  expectancy  of  the  engagement  of  the 
following  day  had  induced  that  condition  in  me. 

At  three  o’clock  in  the  morning,  while  it  was  still  very 
dark,  somebody  pulled  the  warm  fur  coat  from  me,  and 
the  purple  light  of  a candle  disagreeably  startled  my 
sleepy  eyes. 

“ Please  get  up  ! ” said  somebody’s  voice.  I closed  my 

477 


478 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


eyes,  unconsciously  pulled  the  fur  coat  over  me,  and  again 
fell  asleep.  “ Please  get  up  ! ” repeated  Dmitri,  pitilessly 
shaking  me  by  the  shoulder.  “ The  infantry  is  starting.’’ 
I suddenly  recalled  the  actuality,  shuddered,  and  sprang 
to  my  feet.  Having  swallowed  in  a hurry  a glass  of  tea 
and  washed  myself  with  ice-crusted  water,  I went  out  of 
the  tent  and  walked  over  to  the  park  (the  place  where 
the  ordnance  is  stationed). 

It  was  dark,  misty,  and  cold.  The  night  fires,  which 
glimmered  here  and  there  in  the  camp,  lighting  up  the 
figures  of  the  drowsy  soldiers  who  were  lying  about  them, 
only  intensified  the  darkness  by  their  purple  glamour. 
Nearby  one  could  hear  the  even,  calm  snoring  of  men ; in 
the  distance  there  was  the  motion,  talking,  and  clanking 
of  the  infantry’s  weapons,  getting  ready  for  the  march; 
there  was  an  odour  of  smoke,  dung,  slow-matches,  and 
mist ; a morning  chill  ran  down  one’s  back,  and  one’s 
teeth  involuntarily  clattered  against  each  other. 

By  the  snorting  and  occasional  stamping  alone  could 
one  make  out,  in  this  impenetrable  darkness,  where  the 
hitched-up  limbers  and  caissons  were  standing,  and  only 
by  the  burning  dots  of  the  linstocks  could  one  tell  where 
the  ordnance  was.  With  the  words,  “ God  be  with  you  ! ” 
the  first  gun  began  to  clatter,  then  the  caisson  rattled, 
and  the  platoon  was  on  the  move.  We  took  off  our 
hats  and  made  the  sign  of  the  cross.  Having  taken  up  its 
position  among  the  infantry,  the  platoon  stopped,  and  for 
about  fifteen  minutes  awaited  the  drawing  up  of  the  whole 
column  and  the  arrival  of  the  commander. 

“ We  lack  one  soldier,  Nikolay  Petrovich!”  said, 
approaching  me,  a black  figure,  which  I recognized  by 
the  voice  only  as  being  that  of  the  platoon  gun-sergeant, 
Maksimov. 

- Who  is  it?” 

“ Velenchuk  is  not  here.  As  we  were  hitching  up,  he 
was  here,  and  I saw  him,  but  now  he  is  gone.” 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


479 


As  there  was  no  reason  to  suppose  that  the  column 
would  march  at  once,  we  decided  to  send  Lance  Corporal 
Antonov  to  find  Velenchuk.  Soon  after,  several  horse- 
men galloped  past  us  in  the  darkness : that  was  the  com- 
mander with  his  suite ; immediately  there  was  a stir,  the 
van  of  the  column  started,  and  then  we  began  to  march, 
— but  Antonov  and  Velenchuk  were  not  with  us.  We 
had  scarcely  taken  one  hundred  steps,  when  both  soldiers 
caught  up  with  us. 

“ Where  was  he  ? ” I asked  of  Antonov. 

“ Asleep  in  the  park.” 

“ Is  he  drunk  ? ” 

“ No,  sir.” 

“ Why,  then,  did  he  go  to  sleep  ? ” 

“ I can’t  tell  you.” 

For  something  like  three  hours  we  moved  slowly  in  the 
same  silence  and  darkness  over  unploughed,  snowless  fields 
and  low  bushes,  which  crackled  under  the  wheels  of  the 
ordnance.  Finally,  after  fording  a shallow,  but  extremely 
rapid  torrent,  we  halted,  and  in  the  van  could  be  heard 
intermittent  volleys  of  musketry.  These  sounds,  as  al- 
ways, had  an  awakening  effect  upon  all.  The  detachment 
seemed  to  have  wakened  from  slumber : in  the  ranks 
could  be  heard  conversation,  animation,  and  laughter. 
Some  soldiers  were  wrestling  with  their  comrades ; others 
leaped  now  on  one  foot,  now  on  another;  others  again 
were  munching  their  hardtack,  or,  to  pass  the  time,  pre- 
tended to  stand  sentry  or  keep  time  walking.  In  the 
meantime  the  mist  was  becoming  perceptibly  white  in 
the  east,  the  dampness  grew  more  penetrating,  and  the 
surrounding  objects  emerged  more  and  more  from  the 
darkness.  I could  discern  the  green  gun-carriages  and 
caissons,  the  brass  of  the  ordnance,  covered  by  a misty 
dampness,  the  familiar  forms  of  my  soldiers,  and  the  bay 
horses,  which  I had  involuntarily  learned  to  know  down 
to  their  minutest  details,  and  the  rows  of  the  infantry, 


480 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


with  their  sparkling  bayonets,  knapsacks,  wad-hooks,  and 
kettles  over  their  backs. 

Shortly  afterward  we  were  again  put  in  motion,  taken 
a couple  of  hundred  steps  across  the  field,  and  had  a place 
pointed  out  to  us.  On  the  right  could  be  seen  the  steep 
bank  of  a winding  brook  and  tall  wooden  posts  of  a 
Tartar  cemetery ; on  the  left  and  in  front  of  us  shim- 
mered a black  streak,  through  the  mist.  The  platoon 
came  down  from  the  limbers.  The  eighth  company, 
which  was  flanking  us,  stacked  arms,  and  a battalion  of 
soldiers  went  into  the  woods  with  guns  and  axes. 

Less  than  five  minutes  had  elapsed  when  on  all  sides 
crackled  and  burned  camp-fires ; the  soldiers  scattered 
about  them,  fanning  the  fire  with  their  hands  and  feet, 
carrying  boughs  and  logs,  and  in  the  forest  resounded 
without  interruption  hundreds  of  axes  and  falling  trees. 

The  artillerists,  vying  with  the  infantrymen,  had  made 
a fire  of  their  own,  and  though  it  was  burning  so  well  that 
it  was  impossible  to  come  within  two  paces  of  it,  and  a 
dense  smoke  was  passing  through  the  ice-crusted  branches, 
from  which  drops  fell  sizzling  into  the  fire,  and  which  the 
soldiers  kept  pressing  down  with  their  feet,  and  though 
coal  had  formed  underneath  the  fire,  and  the  grass  was 
burnt  white  all  around  it,  — the  soldiers  were  not  yet  sat- 
isfied ; they  dragged  up  whole  logs,  threw  steppe-grass 
upon  it,  and  fanned  it  more  and  more. 

As  I went  up  to  the  camp-fire  to  light  a cigarette, 
Velenchuk,  who  was  always  officious,  but  who  now, 
having  failed  in  his  duty,  was  unduly  busy  about  the 
fire,  in  an  attack  of  zeal  pulled  out  with  his  naked  hand 
a burning  coal  from  the  very  middle,  and,  vaulting  it  a 
couple  of  times  from  one  hand  to  another,  threw  it  down 
on  the  ground. 

“ You  had  better  light  a stick  and  hand  it,”  said  some 
one. 

“ Hand  him  the  linstock,  boys ! ” cried  another. 


The  cutting  of  the  forest 


481 


When  I finally  lighted  my  cigarette  without  Yelen- 
cliuk’s  aid,  who  was  again  ready  to  pick  up  the  coal 
with  his  hands,  he  wiped  his  singed  fingers  against  the 
hind  skirts  of  his  fur  coat,  and,  evidently  anxious  to  be 
doing  something,  lifted  a large  plane-tree  log  and  flung  it 
into  the  fire  with  all  his  might.  When,  at  last,  it  seemed 
to  him  that  it  was  time  to  rest  himself,  he  went  up  as 
near  as  he  could  to  the  burning  wood,  spread  his  over- 
coat, which  he  wore  like  a mantle  on  the  back  button, 
extended  in  front  of  him  his  large  black  hands,  and, 
distorting  his  mouth  a little,  blinked  with  his  eyes. 

“ Ah,  I have  forgotten  my  pipe.  That's  bad,  brothers  ! ” 
he  said,  after  a moment's  silence,  and  addressing  no  one  in 
particular. 


II 


In  Russia  there  are  three  prevailing  types  of  soldiers, 
among  which  may  be  classed  the  soldiers  of  all  the  armies : 
of  the  Caucasus,  the  line,  the  guards,  the  infantry,  the 
cavalry,  the  artillery,  and  so  forth. 

These  chief  types,  capable  of  many  subdivisions  and 
blendings,  are  the  following: 

(1)  The  submissive. 

(2)  The  commanding. 

(3)  The  desperate. 

The  submissive  soldiers  may  be  subdivided  into  ( a ) 
indifferently  submissive  and  ( b ) busily  submissive. 

The  commanding  may  be  subdivided  into  (a)  austerely 
commanding  and  (&)  sagaciously  commanding. 

The  desperate  may  be  subdivided  into  (a)  desperate 
jokers  and  ( b ) desperate  debauchees. 

The  commonest  type  is  a gentle,  sympathetic  type, 
which  unites  the  best  Christian  virtues,  meekness,  piety, 
patience,  and  submission  to  the  will  of  God,  and  is  that 
of  the  submissive  in  general.  The  distinctive  features  of 
an  indifferently  submissive  soldier  are  an  imperturbable 
calm  and  contempt  for  all  the  vicissitudes  of  fortune  to 
which  he  may  be  subjected.  The  distinctive  feature  of 
the  submissive  drunkard  is  a quiet,  poetical  inclination 
and  sentimentality.  The  distinctive  feature  of  the  busily 
submissive  is  a limited  mental  capacity,  united  with  an 
aimless  industry  and  zeal. 

The  commanding  type  is  found  preponderantly  in  the 
higher  spheres  of  the  non-commissioned  officers,  among 

482 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


483 


corporals,  under-officers,  sergeants,  and  so  forth.  Among 
these,  the  austerely  commanding  type  is  noble,  energetic, 
preeminently  martial,  and  not  devoid  of  high  poetical 
impulses.  To  this  type  belonged  Corporal  Antonov,  with 
whom  I intend  to  acquaint  the  reader.  The  second  sub- 
division is  formed  by  the  sagaciously  commanding,  who 
of  late  have  been  getting  quite  common.  A sagaciously 
commanding  non-commissioned  officer  is  always  eloquent, 
knows  how  to  read  and  write,  wears  a pink  shirt,  does  not 
eat  from  the  common  kettle,  at  times  smokes  Musat 
tobacco,  considers  himself  incomparably  higher  than  a 
common  soldier,  and  is  rarely  as  good  a soldier  as  the 
commanding  of  the  first  order. 

The  desperate  type,  like  the  commanding  type,  is  good 
only  in  the  first  subdivision : the  distinctive  traits  of 
desperate  jokers  are  their  imperturbable  cheerfulness,  their 
ability  to  do  everything,  a well-endowed  nature,  and  dash- 
ing spirit  of  adventure  ; this  type  is  just  as  dreadfully 
bad  in  the  second  subdivision  of  desperate  debauchees, 
who,  however,  to  the  honour  of  the  Russian  army  be  it 
said,  occur  very  rarely,  and  wherever  they  are  found  are 
removed  from  companionship  by  the  community  of  the 
soldiers  themselves.  The  chief  characteristics  of  this  sub- 
division are  faithlessness  and  a certain  adventurousness 
in  vice. 

Velenchuk  belonged  to  the  order  of  the  busily  submis- 
sive. He  was  a Little-Russian  by  birth,  fifteen  years  in 
active  service,  and  though  not  a very  fine-appearing  man, 
and  not  a very  agile  soldier,  he  was  simple-hearted, 
kindly,  overzealous,  though  generally  inopportunely  so, 
and  exceedingly  honest.  I say  “ exceedingly  honest,” 
because  the  year  before  there  had  been  an  incident  when 
he  had  very  palpably  displayed  this  characteristic  quality. 
It  must  be  remarked  that  nearly  every  soldier  has  some 
trade;  the  most  popular  trades  are  those  of  a tailor  and 
a shoemaker.  Velenchuk  had  learned  the  first,  and,  to 


484 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


judge  from  the  fact  that  Sergeant  Mikhail  Dorof&ch 
himself  had  him  make  his  clothes  for  him,  he  must  have 
reached  a certain  artistic  perfection  in  it. 

The  year  before,  while  in  camp,  Velenchuk  had  under- 
taken to  make  a fine  overcoat  for  Mikhail  Dorof4ich ; but 
in  the  night,  when,  after  cutting  the  cloth  and  fixing  the 
lining,  he  lay  down  to  sleep  with  the  goods  under  his 
head,  a misfortune  befell  him  : the  cloth,  which  had  cost 
seven  roubles,  had  disappeared.  With  tears  in  his  eyes, 
trembling  lips,  and  restrained  sobs,  Velenchuk  announced 
the  fact  to  the  sergeant.  Mikhail  Dorof4ich  was  furious. 
In  the  first  moment  of  his  anger  he  threatened  the  tailor, 
but  later,  being  a man  of  means,  and  good  at  heart,  he 
dropped  the  whole  matter  and  did  not  ask  any  restitution 
of  the  value  of  the  overcoat.  However  much  bustling 
Velenchuk  fretted  and  wept,  as  he  was  telling  about  his 
misfortune,  the  thief  did  not  show  up.  Though  there 
were  strong  suspicions  against  a desperate  debauchee  of  a 
soldier,  Chernov  by  name,  who  was  sleeping  in  the  same 
tent  with  him,  there  were  no  positive  proofs.  The 
sagacious  commander,  Mikhail  Dorof4ich,  being  a man  of 
means  and  in  some  kind  of  partnership  with  the  superin- 
tendent of  arms  and  the  steward,  the  aristocrats  of  the 
battery,  very  soon  completely  forgot  the  loss  of  that  par- 
ticular overcoat ; Velenchuk,  on  the  contrary,  could  not 
forget  his  misfortune.  The  soldiers  said  that  they  were 
afraid  all  the  time  that  he  would  lay  hands  on  himself  or 
run  away  into  the  mountains,  for  this  unfortunate  acci- 
dent had  affected  him  powerfully.  He  did  not  eat,  nor 
drink ; he  could  not  work,  and  wept  all  the  time.  Three 
days  later  he  appeared  before  Mikhail  Dorof^ich,  and,  all 
pale,  drew  with  trembling  hands  a gold  coin  out  of  his 
rolled  up  sleeve,  and  handed  it  to  him. 

“ Upon  my  word,  this  is  all  I have,  Mikhail  Dorof&ch, 
and  I have  borrowed  it  from  Zhdanov,”  he  said,  sobbing 
again.  “The  two  roubles  that  are  wanting  I will  give 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


485 


you,  upon  my  word,  as  soon  as  I have  earned  them.  He  ” 
(Velenchuk  himself  did  not  know  who  that  “ he  ” was) 
“ has  made  me  out  a thief  in  your  eyes.  His  vile,  con- 
temptible soul  has  taken  the  last  thing  away  from  his 
brother  soldier  ; here  I have  been  serving  fifteen  years, 
and  — ” To  Mikhail  Dorofeich’s  honour,  it  must  be  said 
that  he  did  not  take  from  'him  the  lacking  two  roubles, 
though  Velenchuk  offered  them  to  him  two  months  later. 


III. 


Besides  Velenchuk,  five  other  soldiers  of  my  platoon 
were  warming  themselves  at  the  fire. 

In  the  best  place,  protected  from  the  wind,  on  a cask, 
sat  the  gun-sergeant  of  the  platoon,  Maksimov,  smoking  a 
pipe.  In  the  pose,  the  look,  and  all  the  motions  of 
this  man  could  be  observed  the  habit  of  commanding  and 
the  consciousness  of  his  personal  dignity,  even  inde- 
pendently of  the  cask,  on  which  he  was  sitting,  and 
which,  at  a halt,  formed  the  emblem  of  authority,  and  of 
the  nankeen-covered  fur  half-coat. 

When  I came  up,  he  turned  his  head  toward  me ; but 
his  eyes  remained  fixed  upon  the  fire,  and  only  much 
later  did  they  follow  the  direction  of  his  head,  and  rest 
upon  me.  Maksimov  was  a freeman ; he  was  possessed  of 
some  means,  had  taken  instruction  in  the  school  of  the 
brigade,  and  had  picked  up  some  information.  He  was 
dreadfully  rich  and  dreadfully  learned,  as  the  soldiers  ex- 
pressed themselves. 

I remember  how  once,  at  gun-practice  with  the  quad- 
rant, he  explained  to  the  soldiers  who  were  crowding 
around  him  that  the  level  was  “ nothing  else  than  that  it 
originates  because  the  atmospheric  quicksilver  has  its 
motion.”  In  reality,  Maksimov  was  far  from  being 
stupid,  and  he  knew  his  work  very  well,  but  he  had  an 
unfortunate  peculiarity  of  speaking  at  times  purposely  in 
such  a way  that  it  was  totally  impossible  to  understand 
him,  and  so  that,  as  I am  convinced,  he  did  not  under- 
stand his  own  words.  He  was  especially  fond  of  the 

486 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


487 


words  “ originates ” and  “to  continue,”  and  when  he 
introduced  his  remarks  with  “ originates  ” and  “ con- 
tinuing,” I knew  in  advance  that  I should  not  understand 
a word  of  what  followed.  The  soldiers,  on  the  contrary, 
so  far  as  I was  able  to  observe,  liked  to  hear  his  “ origi- 
nates,1” and  suspected  that  a deep  meaning  lay  behind  it, 
though,  like  myself,  they  did  not  comprehend  a word. 
They  referred  this  lack  of  comprehension  to  their  own 
stupidity,  and  respected  F4dor  Maksimych  the  more  for 
it.  In  short,  Maksimych  was  a sagacious  commander. 

The  second  soldier,  who  was  taking  off  the  boots  from 
his  red,  muscular  legs,  was  Antonov,  the  same  bombardier 
Antonov,  who  in  the  year  ’37,  having  been  left  with  two 
others  at  a gun,  without  protection,  had  kept  up  a fire 
against  a numerous  enemy,  and,  with  two  bullets  in  his 
hip,  had  continued  to  attend  to  the  gun  and  load  it.  “ He 
would  have  been  a gun-sergeant  long  ago,  if  it  were  not 
for  his  character,”  the  soldiers  would  say  of  him.  In- 
deed, his  was  a strange  character : in  his  sober  mood 
there  was  not  a quieter,  prompter,  and  more  peaceful 
soldier ; but  when  he  became  intoxicated,  he  was  an 
entirely  different  man:  he  did  not  respect  the  au- 
thorities, brawled,  fought,  and  was  an  altogether  use- 
less soldier.  Not  more  than  a week  before  he  had 
gone  on  a spree  during  Butter-week,  and,  in  spite  of  all 
threats,  persuasions,  and  calls  to  duty,  he  continued  his 
drunken  bouts  and  brawls  until  the  first  Monday  in  Lent. 
But  during  the  whole  fast,  in  spite  of  the  order  for  all 
men  in  the  division  to  eat  meat,  he  lived  on  nothing  but 
hardtack,  and  in  the  first  week  he  did  not  even  take  the 
prescribed  dram  of  brandy.  However,  it  was  only  neces- 
sary to  see  this  undersized  figure,  built  as  though  of  iron, 
with  his  short,  crooked  legs  and  shining,  whiskered  face, 
take  into  his  muscular  hands  the  balalayka,  while  under 
the  influence  of  liquor,  and,  carelessly  casting  his  glances 
to  both  sides,  strum  some  “ lady’s  ” song,  or,  to  see  him, 


488 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


his  overcoat,  with  the  decorations  dangling  from  it, 
thrown  over  shoulder,  and  his  hands  thrust  into  the 
pockets  of  his  blue  nankeen  trousers,  stroll  down  the 
street,  — it  was  only  necessary  to  see  the  expression  of 
military  pride  and  contempt  of  everything  un-military, 
which  was  displayed  in  his  face  at  such  a time,  in 
order  to  understand  how  utterly  impossible  it  was  for 
him  to  keep  from  fighting  at  such  a moment  an  imperti- 
nent or  even  innocent  orderly,  who  got  in  his  way,  or  a 
Cossack,  a foot-soldier,  or  settler,  in  general  one  who  did 
not  belong  to  the  artillery.  He  fought  and  was  turbu- 
lent not  so  much  for  his  own  amusement,  as  for  the  sake 
of  supporting  the  spirit  of  the  whole  soldierhood,  of  which 
he  felt  himself  to  be  a representative. 

The  third  soldier,  with  an  earring  in  one  ear,  bristly 
moustache,  a sharp,  birdlike  face,  and  a porcelain  pipe 
between  his  teeth,  who  was  squatting  near  the  fire,  was 
the  artillery -rider  Chikin.  The  dear  man  Chlkin,  as  the 
soldiers  called  him,  was  a joker.  Whether  in  bitter  cold, 
or  up  to  his  knees  in  mud,  for  two  days  without  food,  in 
an  expedition,  on  parade,  at  instruction,  the  dear  man 
always  and  everywhere  made  faces,  pirouetted  with  his 
feet,  and  did  such  funny  things  that  the  whole  platoon 
roared  with  laughter.  At  a halt  or  in  camp  there  was 
always  around  Chikin  a circle  of  young  soldiers,  with 
whom  he  played  cards;  or  he  told  them  stories  about 
a cunning  soldier  and  an  English  milord,  or  imitated  a 
Tartar  or  a German,  or  simply  made  his  own  remarks, 
which  caused  them  nearly  to  die  with  laughter.  It  is 
true,  his  reputation  as  a joker  wTas  so  well  established  in 
the  battery  that  it  was  enough  for  him  to  open  his  mouth 
and  wink,  in  order  to  provoke  a general  roar  of  laughter ; 
but  there  was  really  something  truly  comical  and  unex- 
pected in  all  he  said  and  did.  In  everything  he  saw 
something  especial,  something  that  would  not  have  oc- 
curred to  anybody  else,  and  what  is  more  important,  this 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


489 


ability  to  see  something  funny  did  not  fail  him  under  any 
trial. 

The  fourth  soldier  was  a homely  young  lad,  a recruit 
of  the  last  year’s  draft,  who  was  now  for  the  first  time 
taking  part  in  an  expedition.  He  was  standing  in  the 
smoke,  and  so  close  to  the  fire  that  it  looked  as  though 
his  threadbare  fur  coat  would  soon  ignite ; but,  notwith- 
standing this,  it  was  evident,  from  the  way  he  spread 
the  skirts  of  his  coat,  from  his  self-satisfied  pose  with  his 
arching  calves,  that  he  was  experiencing  great  pleasure. 

And,  finally,  the  fifth  soldier,  seated  a little  distance 
from  the  fire,  and  whittling  a stick,  was  Uncle  Zhdanov. 
Zhdanov  had  seen  more  service  than  any  other  soldier  in 
the  battery ; he  had  known  them  all  as  recruits,  and  they 
called  him  uncle,  from  force  of  habit.  It  was  reported 
that  he  never  drank,  nor  smoked,  nor  played  cards  (not 
even  noski),  nor  ever  swore.  All  his  time  which  was  free 
from  military  service  he  spent  in  plying  the  shoemaker’s 
trade;  on  holidays  he  went  to  church,  whenever  it  was 
possible,  or  placed  a kopek  taper  before  the  image,  and 
opened  the  psalter,  the  only  book  which  he  could  read. 
He  associated  little  with  the  soldiers : he  was  coldly  re- 
spectful to  those  who  were  higher  in  rank  but  younger 
in  years ; his  equals  he  had  little  chance  to  meet,  since  he 
did  not  drink ; but  he  was  especially  fond  of  recruits  and 
young  soldiers,  — he  always  protected  them,  read  the 
instructions  to  them,  and  frequently  aided  them.  Every- 
body in  the  battery  considered  him  a capitalist  because 
he  was  possessed  of  twenty-five  roubles  with  which  he 
was  prepared  to  assist  those  who  really  needed  assistance. 
That  same  Maksimov,  who  was  now  gun-sergeant,  told  me 
that  when  he  had  arrived  ten  years  ago  as  a recruit,  and  the 
older  soldiers,  who  were  given  to  drinking,  drank  up  with 
him  all  the  money  he  had,  Zhdanov,  noticing  his  unfortu- 
nate plight,  called  him  up,  upbraided  him  for  his  conduct, 
even  gave  him  some  blows,  read  him  the  instruction  about 


490 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


the  behaviour  of  a soldier,  and  sent  him  away,  giving  him 
a shirt,  for  Maksimov  had  got  rid  of  his,  and  half  a 
rouble  in  money. 

“ He  has  made  a man  of  me,”  Maksimov  would  say  of 
him,  with  respect  and  gratitude.  He  had  also  helped 
Velenchuk,  whom  he  had  protected  ever  since  he  arrived 
as  a recruit,  at  the  time  of  the  unfortunate  loss  of  the 
overcoat,  and  he  had  aided  many,  many  more  during  his 
twenty-five  years  of  service. 

It  was  impossible  to  expect  in  the  service  a man  who 
knew  his  business  better,  or  a soldier  who  was  braver  and 
more  precise ; but  he  was  too  meek  and  retiring  to  be  pro- 
moted to  the  rank  of  gun-sergeant,  though  he  had  been 
bombardier  fifteen  years.  Zhdanov’s  one  pleasure,  and 
even  passion,  was  songs ; he  was  especially  fond  of  some 
of  them,  and  he  always  gathered  a circle  of  singers  from 
among  the  young  soldiers,  and,  though  he  could  not  sing 
himself,  stood  behind  them,  and,  putting  his  hands  into 
the  pockets  of  his  fur  coat,  and  closing  his  eyes,  expressed 
his  satisfaction  by  the  movement  of  his  head  and  cheeks. 
I do  not  know  why,  but  for  some  reason  or  other  I dis- 
covered much  expression  in  this  even  movement  of  the 
cheeks  under  his  ears,  which  I had  observed  in  nobody 
else  but  him.  His  snow-white  head,  his  moustache  dyed 
black,  and  his  sunburnt,  wrinkled  face  gave  him,  at  first 
sight,  a stern  and  austere  expression;  but,  upon  looking 
more  closely  into  his  large,  round  eyes,  especially  when 
they  were  smiling  (he  never  smiled  with  his  lips),  you 
were  impressed  by  something  extraordinarily  meek  and 
almost  childlike. 


IV. 


“ Ah,  I have  forgotten  my  pipe.  That’s  bad,  brothers,” 
repeated  Velenchuk. 

“ Yon  ought  to  smoke  cigars,  dear  man ! ” remarked 
Chlkin,  screwing  up  his  mouth  and  winking.  “ I always 
smoke  cigars  at  home  ; they  are  sweeter.” 

Of  course,  everybody  rolled  in  laughter. 

“ So  you  forgot  your  pipe,”  interrupted  Maksimov,  not 
paying  any  attention  to  the  general  merriment,  and,  with 
the  air  of  a superior,  proudly  knocking  out  the  ashes  by 
striking  the  pipe  against  the  palm  of  his  left  hand. 
“ What  have  you  been  doing  there  ? Eh,  Velenchuk  ? ” 
Velenchuk  turned  half-around  to  him,  put  his  hand  to 
his  cap,  and  then  dropped  it. 

“ You  evidently  did  not  get  enough  sleep  yesterday, 
and  so  you  are  now  falling  asleep  standing.  You  won’t 
get  any  reward  for  such  benaviour.” 

“May  I be  torn  up  on  the  spot,  F4dor  Maksimych,  if 
I have  had  a drop  in  my  mouth ; I do  not  know  myself 
what  is  the  matter  with  me,”  replied  Velenchuk.  “ What 
occasion  did  I have  to  get  drunk  ? ” he  muttered. 

“ That’s  it.  One  has  to  be  responsible  for  you  fellows 
before  the  authorities,  and  you  keep  it  up  all  the  time,  — 
it  is  disgusting,”  concluded  eloquent  Maksimov,  but  in  a 
calmer  tone. 

“ It  is  really  wonderful,  brothers,”  continued  Velenchuk, 
after  a moment’s  silence,  scratching  the  back  of  his  head, 
and  not  addressing  any  one  in  particular.  “ Eeally,  it  is 
wonderful,  brothers ! Here  I have  been  sixteen  years  in 

491 


492 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


the  service,  and  such  a thing  has  never  happened  to  me 
before.  When  we  were  ordered  to  get  ready  for  the 
march,  I got  up  as  usual,  — there  was  nothing  the  matter ; 
but  suddenly  it  caught  me  in  the  park  — it  caught  me 
and  threw  me  down  on  the  ground,  and  that  was  all  — 
And  I myself  do  not  know  how  I fell  asleep,  brothers  ! 
It  must  be  the  sleeping  disease,”  he  concluded. 

“ Yes,  I had  a hard  time  waking  you,”  said  Antonov, 
pulling  on  his  boot.  “ I kept  pushing  and  pushing  you, 
as  though  you  were  a log ! ” 

"I  say,”  remarked  Velenchuk,  “ just  as  though  I were 
drunk  — ” 

“ There  was  a woman  at  home,”  began  Chikin,  “ who 
had  not  left  the  oven  bed  for  at  least  two  years.  They 
began  to  wake  her  once,  thinking  that  she  was  asleep, 
but  they  found  she  was  dead,  — though  her  death  resem- 
bled sleep.  Yes,  my  dear  man  ! ” 

“ Just  tell  us,  Chikin,  how  you  put  on  style  when  you 
had  your  leave  of  absence,”  said  Maksimov,  smiling  and 
looking  at  me,  as  though  to  say,  “ Would  you  not  like 
to  hear  the  story  of  a foolish  man  ? ” 

“ What  style,  Maksimych  ? ” said  Chikin,  casting  a 
cursory  side  glance  at  me.  “ I just  told  them  all  about 
the  Caucasus.” 

“ Of  course,  of  course  ! Don't  be  so  shy  — tell  us  how 
you  led  them  on.” 

“ It  is  very  simple : they  asked  me  how  we  were 
living,”  Chikin  began,  speaking  hurriedly,  having  the 
appearance  of  a man  who  has  told  the  same  story  several 
times.  “ I said : (We  live  well,  dear  man : we  get  our 
provisions  in  full,  — in  the  morning  and  evening  of 
chocolate  a cup  to  each  soldier  is  brought  up;  and  for 
dinner  we  get  soup,  not  of  oats,  but  of  noble  barley 
groats,  and  instead  of  brandy  we  get  a cup  of  Modeira, 
Modeira  Divirioo  which,  without  the  bottle,  is  at  forty- 
two ! ’ ” 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


493 


“ Great  Modeira  ! ” shouted  Velenchuk,  louder  than  the 
rest,  and  bursting  out  laughing.  “ That’s  what  I call 
Modeira ! ” 

"Well,  and  did  you  tell  them  about  the  Esiatics?” 
Maksimov  continued  his  inquiry,  when  the  general 
laughter  had  subsided. 

Chikin  bent  down  toward  the  fire,  got  a coal  out  with 
a stick,  put  it  in  his  pipe,  and  for  a long  while  puffed  in 
silence  his  tobacco  roots,  as  though  unconscious  of  the 
silent  curiosity  of  his  hearers.  When  he  finally  had 
puffed  up  sufficient  smoke,  he  threw  away  the  coal, 
poised  his  cap  farther  back  on  his  head,  and,  shrugging 
his  shoulder  and  lightly  smiling,  he  continued.  “ ‘ What 
kind  of  a man  is  your  small  Circassian  down  there  ? ’ 
says  one.  ‘ Or  is  it  the  Turk  you  are  fighting  in  the 
Caucasus  ? * Says  I : ‘ Dear  man,  there  is  not  one  kind 
of  Circassians  down  there,  but  many  different  Circassians 
there  are.  There  are  some  mountaineers  who  live  in 
stone  mountains,  and  who  eat  stone  instead  of  bread. 
They  are  big,’  says  I,  ‘ a big  log  in  size ; they  have  one 
eye  in  the  middle  of  the  forehead/  and  they  wear  red  caps 
that  glow  like  yours,  dear  man  ! ” he  added,  addressing 
a young  recruit,  who,  in  fact,  wore  a funny  little  cap 
with  a red  crown. 

At  this  unexpected  turn,  the  recruit  suddenly  sat 
down  on  the  ground,  slapped  his  knees,  and  burst  out 
laughing  and  coughing  so  hard  that  he  could  hardly 
pronounce  with  a choking  voice,  “ Those  are  fine  moun- 
taineers ! ” 

" ‘ Then  there  are  the  Boobies/  ” continued  Chikin,  with 
a jerk  of  his  head  drawing  his  cap  back  on  his  forehead, 
“ ‘ these  are  twins,  wee  little  twins,  about  this  size.  They 
always  run  in  pairs,  holding  each  other’s  hands/  says  I, 
‘ and  they  run  so  fast  that  you  can’t  catch  them  on  horse- 
back.’ ‘ Are  those  Boobies/  says  one,  ‘ born  with  clasped 
hands,  my  dear  fellow  ? ’ ” Chikin  spoke  in  a guttural 


494 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


bass,  as  though  imitating  a peasant.  "‘Yes/  says  I, 
‘ dear  man,  he  is  such  by  nature.  If  you  tear  their  hands 
apart,  blood  will  ooze  out,  just  as  from  a Chinaman ; if 
you  take  off  their  caps,  blood  will  flow/  ‘ Now  tell  me, 
good  fellow,  how  do  they  carry  on  war  V says  he.  ‘ Like 
this/  says  I,  ‘ if  they  catch  you,  they  slit  open  your  belly, 
and  begin  to  wind  your  guts  about  your  arms.  They 
wind  them,  but  you  laugh  and  laugh,  until  you  give  up 
the  ghost  — * ” 

“ Well,  did  they  believe  you,  Chikin  ?”  said  Maksimov, 
with  a slight  smile,  while  the  others  were  rolling  in 
laughter. 

“They  are  such  strange  people,  F4dor  Maksimych. 
They  believe  everything,  upon  my  word,  they  do.  But 
when  I began  to  tell  them  about  Mount  Kazb6k,  telling 
them  that  the  snow  did  not  melt  all  summer  there,  they 
ridiculed  me.  ‘ Don’t  tell  such  fibs,  good  fellow/  they 
said.  ‘ Who  has  ever  heard  such  a thing : a big  moun- 
tain, and  the  snow  not  melting  on  it ! Why,  even  with 
us  the  snow  melts  on  the  mounds  long  before  it  has 
melted  in  the  hollows/  So,  go  and  explain  matters  to 
them,”  concluded  Chikin,  winking. 


V. 


The  bright  disk  of  the  sun,  shining  through  the  milk- 
white  mist,  had  risen  quite  high ; the  grayish-violet 
horizon  was  widening  all  the  time,  and  though  it  was 
farther  away,  it  was  also  sharply  closed  in  by  the  decep- 
tive white  mist  wall. 

In  front  of  us,  beyond  the  forest  which  had  been  cut 
down,  there  was  opened  up  a fairly  large  clearing.  Over 
the  clearing  there  spread  on  all  sides  the  smoke  from  the 
fires,  now  black,  now  milk-white,  now  violet,  and  the  white 
layers  of  the  mist  were  forming  themselves  into  fantastic 
shapes.  Far  in  (he  distance,  occasionally  appeared  groups 
of  Tartar  horsemen,  and  were  heard  the  infrequent  re- 
ports of  our  carbines,  and  their  guns  and  cannon. 

“ This  was  not  yet  an  engagement,  but  mere  child’s 
play,”  as  the  good  Captain  Khlopov  used  to  say. 

The  commander  of  the  ninth  company  of  sharpshooters, 
who  were  to  flank  us,  walked  up  to  the  guns,  pointed  to 
three  Tartar  horsemen,  who  were  at  that  time  riding 
near  the  forest,  at  a distance  of  more  than  six  hundred 
fathoms  from  us ; he  asked  me,  with  that  eagerness  to 
see  an  artillery  fire  which  is  characteristic  of  all  infantry 
officers  in  general,  to  give  them  a shot  or  a shell. 

“ Do  you  see,”  he  said,  with  a kindly  and  convincing 
smile  extending  his  hand  from  behind  my  shoulder, 
“ there  where  the  two  high  trees  are  ? One  of  them,  in 
front,  is  on  a white  horse,  and  dressed  in  a white  mantle, 
and  there,  behind  him,  are  two  more.  Do  you  see  them  ? 
Couldn’t  you  just  — ” 


495 


496 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


“ And  there  are  three  others,  riding  near  the  forest/’ 
added  Antonov,  who  had  remarkably  sharp  eyes,  ap- 
proaching us,  and  concealing  behind  his  back  the  pipe 
which  he  had  been  smoking.  “The  one  in  front  has 
just  taken  out  the  gun  from  its  case.  You  can  see  him 
plainly,  your  Honour  ! ” 

“ I say,  he  has  fired  it  off,  brothers ! There  is  the 
white  puff  of  the  smoke,”  said  Velenchuk,  in  a group 
of  soldiers  who  were  standing  a short  distance  behind 
us. 

“ He  must  have  aimed  at  our  cordon,  the  rascal ! ” 
remarked  another. 

“ See  what  a lot  of  them  the  forest  is  pouring  out. 
I suppose  they  are  trying  to  find  a place  to  station  their 
cannon,”  added  a third.  “ If  we  could  just  burst  a shell 
in  the  midst  of  them,  — that  would  make  them  spit  — ” 

“ What  is  your  opinion  ? will  it  reach  so  far,  dear 
man  ? ” asked  Chikin. 

“ Five  hundred  or  five  hundred  and  twenty  fathoms, 
not  more,”  Maksimov  said,  coolly,  as  though  speaking  to 
himself,  though  it  was  evident  that  he  was  anxious  to  fire 
off  the  cannon,  as  the  rest  were.  “ If  we  were  to  give 
forty-five  lines  to  the  howitzer,  we  might  hit  it,  — hit  it 
square  in  the  middle.” 

“ Do  you  know,  if  you  were  to  aim  straight  at  this 
group,  you  would  certainly  hit  somebody.  See  how  they 
have  all  gathered  in  a mass ! Now,  quickly,  give  the 
order  to  fire,”  the  commander  of  the  company  continued 
his  entreaties. 

“ Do  you  order  the  gun  to  be  aimed  ? ” Antdnov  sud- 
denly asked,  in  a jerky  bass  voice,  with  gloomy  malice  in 
his  eyes. 

I must  confess  that  I myself  was  anxious  for  it,  and  so 
I ordered  that  the  second  cannon  be  brought  into  posi- 
tion. 

No  sooner  had  I given  the  order  than  the  shell  was 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


497 


powdered,  and  rammed  in,  and  Antonov,  clinging  to  the 
gun-cheek,  and  placing  his  two  fat  fingers  on  the  carriage- 
plate,  was  ordering  the  block-trail  to  the  right  and  left. 

“ A trifle  more  to  the  left  — a wee  bit  to  the  right  — 
now,  the  least  little  bit  more  — now  it’s  all  right,”  he 
said,  walking  away  from  the  gun  with  a proud  face. 

The  infantry  officer,  I,  and  Maksimov,  one  after  an- 
other put  our  eyes  to  the  sight,  and  each  expressed  his 
particular  opinion. 

“ Upon  my  word,  it  will  carry  across,”  remarked  Velen- 
chuk,  clicking  with  his  tongue,  although  he  had  only 
been  looking  over  Antonov’s  shoulder,  and  therefore  did 
not  have  the  least  reason  for  such  a supposition.  “ Upon 
my  word,  it  will  carry  across,  and  will  strike  that  tree, 
brothers ! ” 

“ Second  ! ” I commanded. 

The  crew  stepped  aside.  Antonov  ran  to  one  side,  in 
order  to  see  the  flight  of  the  projectile ; the  fuse  flashed, 
and  the  brass  rang  out.  At  the  same  time  we  were  en- 
veloped in  powder-smoke,  and  through  the  deafening 
boom  of  the  report  was  heard  the  metallic,  whizzing 
sound  of  the  projectile,  flying  with  the  rapidity  of  light- 
ning, dying  away  in  the  distance  amid  a universal 
silence.  A little  behind  the  group  of  the  horsemen  ap- 
peared white  smoke,  the  Tartars  galloped  away  in  both 
directions,  and  we  heard  the  sound  of  the  explosion. 

“ That  was  fine  ! How  they  are  scampering ! See,  the 
devils  don’t  like  it ! ” were  heard  the  approvals  and  jests 
in  the  ranks  of  the  artillery  and  infantry. 

“ If  we  had  aimed  a little  lower,  we  should  have  hit 
him  straight,”  remarked  Yelenchuk.  “ I told  you  it 
would  strike  the  tree,  and  so  it  did,  — it  went  to  the 
right.” 


VI. 


Leaving  the  soldiers  to  discuss  the  flight  of  the  Tar- 
tars when  they  saw  the  shell,  and  why  they  were  riding 
there,  and  how  many  of  them  still  might  be  in  the  woods, 
I walked  away  with  the  commander  of  the  company  a 
few  steps  to  one  side,  and  seated  myself  under  a tree, 
waiting  for  the  warmed  forcemeat  cutlets  which  he  had 
offered  me.  The  commander  of  the  company,  Bolkhov, 
was  one  of  those  officers  who,  in  the  regiment,  are  called 
" bonjours”  He  had  means,  had  served  in  the  guards, 
and  spoke  French.  Yet,  notwithstanding  this,  his  com- 
rades liked  him.  He  was  quite  clever,  and  had  enough 
tact  to  wear  a St.  Petersburg  coat,  to  eat  a good  dinner, 
and  to  speak  French,  without  unduly  offending  the  society 
of  his  fellow  officers.  After  speaking  of  the  weather,  of 
military  engagements,  of  our  common  acquaintances  among 
the  officers,  and  convincing  ourselves,  by  our  questions 
and  answers,  and  by  our  view  of  things,  that  there  was 
a satisfactory  understanding  between  us,  we  involuntarily 
passed  to  a more  intimate  conversation.  Besides,  in  the 
Caucasus,  among  people  of  the  same  circle  naturally  arises 
the  question,  though  not  always  expressed,  “ Why  are  you 
here  ? ” To  this  silent  question  my  companion,  so  it 
seemed  to  me,  was  trying  to  give  a reply. 

“ When  will  this  frontier  work  end  ? ” he  said,  lazily. 
“ It  is  dull ! ” 

“ Not  to  me,”  said  I.  “ It  is  more  tiresome  on  the  staff.” 
“ Oh,  on  the  staff  it  is  ten  thousand  times  worse,”  he 
said,  angrily.  “ No,  when  will  all  this  end  ? ” 

“ What  is  it  you  want  to  end  ? ” 

498 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


499 


“ Everything,  altogether  ! — Are  the  cutlets  ready, 
Nikolaev  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Why  did  you  go  to  the  Caucasus  to  serve,  if  the  Cau- 
casus is  so  displeasing  to  you  ? ” 

“ Do  you  know  why  ? ” he  replied,  with  absolute  frank- 
ness. “ By  tradition.  In  Russia,  you  know,  there  exists 
an  exceedingly  strange  tradition  about  the  Caucasus,  as 
though  it  were  a promised  land  for  all  kinds  of  unhappy 
people.” 

“ Yes,  that  is  almost  true,”  I said,  “ the  greater  part  of 
us  — ” 

“But  what  is  best  of  all,”  he  interrupted  me,  “is, 
that  all  of  us  who  come  to  the  Caucasus  make  dreadful 
mistakes  in  our  calculations.  Really,  I can’t  see  why,  on 
account  of  an  unfortunate  love-affair  or  disorder  in  money 
matters,  one  should  hasten  to  serve  in  the  Caucasus 
rather  than  in  Kazan  or  Kaluga.  In  Russia  they  im- 
agine the  Caucasus  as  something  majestic,  with  eternal 
virgin  snows,  torrents,  daggers,  cloaks,  Circassian  maidens, 
— all  this  is  terrifying,  but,  really,  there  is  nothing  jolly 
in  it.  If  they  only  knew  that  you  never  are  in  the  vir- 
gin snows,  and  that  there  is  no  special  pleasure  in  being 
there,  and  that  the  Caucasus  is  divided  into  Governments, 
Stavropol,  Tiflis,  and  so  forth  — ” 

“ Yes,”  I said,  laughing,  “ in  Russia  we  take  an  entirely 
different  view  of  the  Caucasus  from  what  we  do  here. 
Have  you  not  experienced  this  ? when  you  read  poetry  in 
a language  that  you  do  not  know  very  well,  you  imagine 
it  to  be  much  better  than  it  really  is  — ” 

“ I don’t  know,  only  I have  no  use  for  the  Caucasus,” 
he  interrupted  me. 

“ No,  not  so  with  me.  I like  the  Caucasus  even  now, 
but  differently  — ” 

“ Maybe  the  Caucasus  is  all  right,”  he  continued,  as 
though  provoked  a little,  “ but  I know  this  much : I am 
not  good  for  the  Caucasus.” 


500 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


“ Why  not  ? ” I asked,  in  order  to  say  something. 

“ Because,  in  the  first  place,  it  has  deceived  me.  All 
that  from  which  I had  come  away  to  be  cured  in  the 
Caucasus,  as  the  tradition  has  it,  has  followed  me  up  here, 
— but  with  this  difference.  Formerly  I was  led  to  it  on 
a large  staircase,  and  now  it  is  a small,  dirty  staircase, 
at  each  step  of  which  I find  millions  of  petty  annoyances, 
meanness,  insults ; in  the  second  place,  because  I feel  that 
I am  every  day  falling  morally  lower  and  lower,  and,  what 
is  most  important,  because  I feel  unfit  for  this  kind  of 
service ; I am  unable  to  bear  danger  — I am  simply  not 
a brave  man  — ” 

He  stopped  and  looked  earnestly  at  me. 

Although  this  unasked-for  confession  surprised  me 
very  much,  I did  not  contradict  him,  as  my  interlocutor 
had  evidently  expected  me  to  do,  but  awaited  from  him 
the  refutation  of  his  own  words,  which  is  always  forth- 
coming under  such  circumstances. 

“ Do  you  know,  I am  to-day  taking  part  in  an  action 
for  the  first  time  since  I have  been  in  the  frontier  guard,” 
he  continued,  “ and  you  will  hardly  believe  what  hap- 
pened to  me  yesterday.  When  the  sergeant  brought  the 
order  that  my  company  was  to  be  in  the  column,  I grew 
as  pale  as  a sheet,  and  was  unable  to  speak  from  trepida- 
tion. And  if  you  only  knew  what  a night  I have  passed  ! 
If  it  is  true  that  people  grow  gray  from  fright,  I ought  to 
be  entirely  white  to-day,  for  not  one  man  condemned 
to  death  has  suffered  so  much  in  one  night  as  I have ; 
though  I am  feeling  a little  more  at  ease  now  than  I did 
in  the  night,  it  still  goes  around  here,”  he  added,  moving 
his  clinched  hand  in  front  of  his  breast.  “ Now  this  is 
certainly  ridiculous,”  he  continued,  “ a most  terrible  drama 
is  being  played  here,  and  I myself  am  eating  cutlets  with 
onions,  and  persuading  myself  that  all  this  is  very  gay. 
Have  you  any  wine,  Nikolaev  ? ” he  added,  with  a yawn. 

“ There  he  is,  brothers  ! ” was  heard  at  that  moment  the 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


501 


alarmed  voice  of  one  of  the  soldiers,  and  all  eyes  were 
directed  to  the  edge  of  the  far-off  forest. 

In  the  distance  rose  a bluish  cloud  of  smoke,  borne 
upwards  by  the  wind,  and  constantly  growing  larger. 
When  I understood  that  this  was  a shot  which  the  enemy 
had  aimed  at  us,  everything  that  was  before  my  eyes, 
everything  suddenly  assumed  a new  and  majestic  charac- 
ter. The  stacked  guns,  and  the  smoke  of  the  camp-fires, 
and  the  blue  sky,  and  the  green  gun-carriages,  and  the 
sunburnt,  whiskered  face  of  Nikolaev,  — everything 
seemed  to  tell  me  that  the  cannon-ball  which  had  emerged 
from  the  smoke  and  which  at  that  moment  was  flying 
through  space  might  be  directed  straight  at  my  breast. 

“ Where  did  you  get  your  wine  ? ” I asked  Bolkhov, 
lazily,  while  in  the  depth  of  my  soul  two  voices  were 
speaking  with  equal  distinctness ; one  said,  “ Lord,  receive 
my  soul  in  peace/’  and  the  other,  “ I hope  I shall  not 
cower,  but  smile  as  the  ball  flies  past  me,”  and  at  the  same 
instant  something  dreadfully  disagreeable  whistled  over 
our  heads,  and  struck  the  ground  within  two  steps  of  us. 

“ Now,  if  I were  a Napoleon  or  a Frederick,”  Bolkhov 
remarked  at  that  time,  turning  toward  me  with  extraordi- 
nary composure,  “ I should  utter  some  witticism.” 

“ But  you  have  told  one  just  now,”  I replied,  with  diffi- 
culty concealing  the  alarm  caused  within  me  by  the 
danger  just  past. 

“ Even  if  I have,  nobody  will  make  a note  of  it.” 

“ I will.” 

“ Yes,  if  you  make  a note  of  it,  it  will  be  to  put  in  a 
critical  paper,  as  Mishchenkov  says,”  he  added,  smiling. 

“ Pshaw,  you  accursed  one ! ” said  Antonov,  who  was 
sitting  behind  us,  angrily  spitting  to  one  side,  “ just  missed 
my  legs.” 

All  my  endeavours  to  appear  cool  and  all  our  cunning 
phrases  suddenly  seemed  intolerably  stupid  after  this 
simple-hearted  exclamation. 


VII. 


The  enemy  had  really  stationed  two  guns  where  the 
Tartars  had  been  riding,  and  every  twenty  or  thirty  min- 
utes they  sent  a shot  at  our  wood-cutters.  My  platoon 
was  moved  out  into  the  clearing,  and  the  order  was  given 
to  return  the  fire.  At  the  edge  of  the  forest  appeared  a 
puff  of  smoke,  there  was  heard  a discharge,  a whistling,  — 
and  the  ball  fell  behind  or  in  front  of  us.  The  projectiles 
of  the  enemy  lodged  harmlessly,  and  we  had  no  losses. 

The  artillerists  conducted  themselves  well,  as  they 
always  did,  loaded  expeditiously,  carefully  aimed  at  the 
puffs  of  smoke,  and  quietly  joked  each  other.  The  flank- 
ing infantry  detachment  lay  near  us,  in  silent  inaction, 
waiting  for  their  turn.  The  wood-cutters  did  their  work : 
the  axes  sounded  through  the  woods  faster  and  more  fre- 
quently ; only,  whenever  the  whistling  of  the  projectile 
was  heard,  everything  suddenly  grew  quiet,  and  amid  the 
dead  silence  could  be  heard  the  not  very  calm  voices, 
“ Get  out  of  the  way,  boys ! ” and  all  eyes  were  directed 
toward  the  ball,  ricocheting  over  the  fires  and  the  brush. 

The  fog  was  now  completely  lifted,  and,  assuming  the 
forms  of  clouds,  was  slowly  disappearing  in  the  dark  blue 
vault  of  the  sky ; the  unshrouded  sun  shone  brightly  and 
cast  its  gleaming  rays  on  the  steel  of  the  bayonets,  the 
brass  of  the  ordnance,  the  thawing  earth,  and  the  spark- 
ling hoarfrost.  The  air  was  brisk  with  the  freshness  of 
the  morning  frost,  together  with  the  warmth  of  the  vernal 
sun ; thousands  of  different  shadows  and  hues  were  min- 
gled in  the  dry  leaves  of  the  forest,  and  on  the  hard  shin- 

502 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


503 


ing  road  were  distinctly  visible  the  traces  of  the  wheel 
tires  and  horse-shoe  sponges. 

Between  the  troops  the  motion  grew  more  animated  and 
more  noticeable.  On  all  sides  flashed  more  and  more  fre- 
quently the  bluish  puffs  of  the  discharges.  The  dragoons, 
with  the  pennons  fluttering  from  their  lances,  rode  out  in 
front;  in  the  companies  of  the  infantry,  songs  were 
started,  and  the  wagons  with  the  wood  were  being  drawn 
up  in  the  rear.  The  general  rode  up  to  our  platoon,  and 
ordered  us  to  get  ready  for  the  retreat.  The  enemy  took 
up  a position  in  the  bushes,  opposite  our  left  flank,  and 
began  to  harass  us  with  musketry-fire.  On  the  left  side  a 
bullet  whizzed  by  from  the  forest  and  struck  a gun-car- 
riage, then  a second,  a third — The  flanking  infantry, 
which  was  lying  near  us,  rose  noisily,  picked  up  their 
guns,  and  formed  a cordon.  The  fusilade  grew  fiercer, 
and  the  bullets  kept  flying  oftener  and  oftener.  The 
retreat  began,  and,  consequently,  the  real  engagement,  as 
is  always  the  case  in  the  Caucasus. 

It  was  quite  evident  that  the  artillerists  did  not  like 
the  bullets,  as  awhile  ago  the  foot-soldiers  had  enjoyed 
the  cannon-balls.  Antonov  frowned.  Chikin  imitated  the 
sound  of  the  bullets  and  made  fun  of  them  ; but  it  was 
apparent  that  he  did  not  like  them.  Of  one  he  said, 
“ What  a hurry  it  is  in ! ” another  he  called  a “ little 
bee ; ” a third  one,  which  flew  over  us  slowly,  and  whining 
pitifully,  he  called  an  “ orphan,”  which  provoked  a uni- 
versal roar. 

The  recruit,  who  was  not  used  to  this,  bent  his  head 
aside  and  craned  his  neck  every  time  a bullet  passed  by, 
which,  too,  made  the  soldiers  laugh.  “ Is  it  an  acquaint- 
ance of  yours,  that  you  are  bowing  to  it  ? ” they  said  to 
him.  Velenchuk,  who  otherwise  was  exceedingly  indif- 
ferent to  danger,  now  was  in  an  agitated  mood  : he  was 
obviously  angry  because  we  did  not  fire  any  canister-shot 
in  the  direction  from  which  the  bullets  proceeded.  He 


504 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


repeated  several  times,  in  a discontented  voice : “ Why  do 
we  let  him  shoot  at  us  for  nothing  ? If  we  trained  our 
gun  upon  him,  and  treated  him  to  a canister-shot,  he 
probably  would  stop.” 

It  was  indeed  time  to  do  so.  I ordered  the  last  shell 
let  out,  and  a canister-shot  loaded. 

“ Canister-shot ! ” cried  Antonov,  lustily,  before  the 
smoke  had  dispersed,  and  walking  up  with  the  sponge  to 
the  gun  the  moment  the  shell  had  been  discharged. 

Just  then  I suddenly  heard  a short  distance  behind  me 
the  ping  of  a whizzing  bullet  striking  against  something. 
My  heart  was  compressed.  “ It  seems  to  me  it  has  struck 
somebody,”  1 thought,  but  at  the  same  time  I was  afraid 
to  turn  around,  under  the  influence  of  a heavy  presenti- 
ment. Indeed,  immediately  following  upon  this  sound 
was  heard  the  heavy  fall  of  a body,  and  “ Oh,  oh,  oh ! ” the 
piercing  cry  of  a wounded  man.  “ It  has  struck  me, 
brothers ! ” uttered  with  difficulty  a voice  which  I recog- 
nized. It  was  Velenchuk.  He  lay  flat  on  his  back 
between  the  limber  and  the  gun.  The  cartridge-box 
which  he  carried  was  thrown  to  one  side.  His  forehead 
was  blood-stained,  and  down  his  right  eye  and  nose  ran 
the  thick  red  blood.  The  wound  was  in  the  abdomen, 
but  he  had  hurt  his  forehead  in  his  fall. 

All  this  I found  out  much  later ; in  the  first  moment 
I saw  only  an  indistinct  mass,  and  a terrible  lot  of  blood, 
as  I thought. 

Not  one  of  the  soldiers,  who  were  loading  the  gun, 
said  a word,  only  the  recruit  mumbled  something  like, 
“ I say,  all  bloody,”  and  Antonov,  scowling,  angrily  cleared 
his  throat ; but  it  was  manifest  that  the  thought  of  death 
had  passed  through  the  mind  of  each.  Everybody  went 
to  work  with  a vim.  The  gun  was  loaded  in  a twinkle, 
and  the  cannoneer,  in  bringing  the  shot,  made  a couple  of 
steps  around  the  place  on  which  the  wounded  man  lay 
groaning. 


VIII. 


Every  one  who  has  been  in  an  action  has  no  doubt 
experienced  that  strange  and  strong,  though  not  at  all 
logical,  feeling  of  disgust  with  the  place  where  one  has 
been  killed  or  wounded.  In  the  first  moment  my  sol- 
diers were  obviously  experiencing  this  feeling,  when  it 
was  necessary  to  lift  up  Velenchuk  and  carry  him  to  the 
vehicle  which  had  just  come  up.  Zhdanov  angrily  went 
up  to  the  wounded  man,  in  spite  of  his  increasing  shrieks 
took  him  under  his  arms,  and  raised  him.  “ Don’t  stand 
around ! Take  hold  of  him ! ” he  shouted,  and  imme- 
diately some  ten  men,  even  superfluous  helpers,  surrounded 
him.  But  the  moment  he  was  moved  away,  Velenchuk 
began  to  cry  terribly  and  to  struggle. 

“ Don’t  yell  like  a rabbit ! ” said  Antonov,  rudely,  hold- 
ing his  leg,  “ or  we  will  throw  you  down.” 

The  wounded  man  really  quieted  down,  and  only  occa- 
sionally muttered,  “ Oh,  I shall  die  ! Oh,  brothers  ! ” 

When  he  was  laid  on  the  vehicle  he  stopped  groaning, 
and  I heard  him  speaking  with  his  comrades  in  a soft, 
but  audible  voice,  — he  evidently  was  bidding  them  good- 
bye. 

During  an  action,  nobody  likes  to  look  at  a wounded 
man,  and  I,  instinctively  hastening  to  get  away  from  this 
spectacle,  ordered  that  he  be  taken  at  once  to  the  ambu- 
lance, and  walked  over  to  the  guns ; but  a few  minutes 
later  I was  told  that  Velenchuk  was  calling  me,  and  I 
went  up  to  the  vehicle. 

In  the  bottom  of  it,  clinging  with  both  hands  to  the 
605 


506 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOKEST 


edges,  lay  the  wounded  man.  His  healthy,  broad  face 
had  completely  changed  in  a few  seconds:  he  looked 
rather  haggard  and  had  aged  by  several  years ; his  lips 
were  thin,  pale,  and  compressed  under  an  evident  strain ; 
the  restless,  dull  expression  of  his  glance  had  given  way 
to  a clear,  quiet  gleam,  and  on  his  blood-stained  forehead 
and  nose  already  lay  the  imprint  of  death. 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  the  least  motion  caused 
him  untold  sufferings,  he  asked  them  to  remove  the 
money-pouch  which  was  tied  around  his  left  leg,  below 
the  knee. 

A terrible  oppressive  sensation  overcame  me  at  the  sight 
of  his  white  healthy  leg,  when  the  boot  was  taken  off, 
and  the  pouch  was  ungirded. 

“ Here  are  three  roubles  and  a half,”  he  said  to  me,  as  I 
took  the  purse  into  my  hand ; “ you  keep  them  for  me.” 

The  vehicle  started,  but  he  stopped  it. 

“ I was  making  an  overcoat  for  Lieutenant  Sulimdvski. 
He  has  given  me  two  roubles.  For  one  rouble  and  a half 
I bought  buttons ; the  remaining  half-rouble  is  in  the 
bag  with  the  buttons.  Give  it  to  him  ! ” 

“Very  well,  very  well,”  I said,  “only  get  well,  my 
friend ! ” 

He  made  no  reply ; the  vehicle  started,  and  he  again 
began  to  sob  and  groan  in  the  most  heartrending  manner. 
It  looked  as  though,  having  arranged  all  his  worldly 
affairs,  he  no  longer  saw  cause  for  restraining  himself,  and 
considered  it  permissible  to  alleviate  his  suffering. 


IX. 


“ Where  are  you  going  ? Come  back ! Where  are 
you  going  ? ” I cried  to  the  recruit,  who,  having  put  his 
reserve  linstock  under  his  arm,  and  with  a stick  in  his 
hand,  was  coolly  following  the  vehicle  in  which  the 
wounded  soldier  was  lying. 

But  the  recruit  only  looked  lazily  at  me,  muttered 
something,  and  went  ahead,  so  that  I had  to  send  a 
soldier  after  him.  He  doffed  his  red  cap,  and,  smiling 
stupidly,  gazed  at  me. 

“ Where  are  you  going  ? ” I asked. 

“ To  the  camp.” 

“ What  for  ? ” 

“ Why,  Yelenchuk  is  wounded,”  he  said,  smiling  again. 

“ What  have  you  to  do  with  that  ? You  must  remain 
here.” 

He  looked  at  me  in  surprise,  then  coolly  wheeled  around, 
put  on  his  cap,  and  went  back  to  his  place. 

The  engagement  was  favourable  to  us : it  was  reported 
that  the  Cossacks  had  made  a fine  attack  and  had  taken 
three  Tartar  bodies ; the  infantry  was  provided  with  wood, 
and  lost  only  six  wounded,  and  in  the  artillery  only  Ye- 
lenchuk and  two  horses  were  put  out  of  action.  To  atone 
for  these  losses,  they  cut  out  about  three  versts  of  tim- 
ber, and  so  cleared  the  place  that  it  was  impossible  to 
recognize  it : in  place  of  the  dense  forest  now  was  opened 
up  an  immense  clearing,  covered  with  smoking  fires  and 
with  the  cavalry  and  infantry  moving  toward  the  camp. 

507 


508 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


Although  the  enemy  continued  to  harass  us  with  artillery 
and  musketry  fire,  until  we  reached  the  brook  by  the 
cemetery,  where  we  had  forded  in  the  morning,  the  retreat 
was  successfully  accomplished.  I was  already  beginning 
to  dream  of  cabbage  soup  and  a leg  of  mutton  with  buck- 
wheat groats,  which  were  awaiting  me  in  the  camp,  when 
the  information  was  received  that  the  general  had  ordered 
the  construction  of  redoubts,  and  that  the  third  battal- 
ion of  the  K regiment  and  a detachment  of  four 

batteries  were  to  remain  here  until  to-morrow.  The 
wagons  with  the  wood  and  the  wounded,  the  Cossacks, 
the  artillery,  the  infantry  with  their  guns,  and  wood  on 
their  shoulders,  — all  passed  by  us,  with  noise  and  songs. 
All  faces  expressed  animation  and  pleasure,  induced  by 
the  past  danger  and  the  hope  for  a rest.  But  the  third 
battalion  and  we  were  to  postpone  these  pleasant  sensa- 
tions for  the  morrow. 


X. 

While  we,  of  the  artillery,  were  still  busy  about  the 
ordnance,  and  placing  the  limbers  and  caissons,  and  pick- 
eting the  horses,  the  infantry  had  stacked  their  arms, 
built  camp-fires,  constructed  booths  of  boughs  and  corn- 
stalks, and  were  boiling  their  buckwheat  grits. 

It  was  growing  dark.  Pale  blue  clouds  scudded  over 
the  sky.  The  fog,  changed  into  a drizzly,  damp  mist,  wet 
the  earth  and  the  overcoats  of  the  soldiers ; the  horizon 
grew  narrower,  and  the  surroundings  were  overcast  with 
gloomy  shadows.  The  dampness,  which  I felt  through 
my  boots  and  behind  my  neck,  the  motion  and  conversa- 
tion, in  which  I took  no  part,  the  viscous  mud,  in  which 
my  feet  slipped,  and  my  empty  stomach,  put  me  in  a very 
heavy  and  disagreeable  mood,  after  a day  of  physical  and 
moral  fatigue.  Velenchuk  did  not  leave  my  mind.  The 
whole  simple  story  of  his  military  life  uninterruptedly 
obtruded  on  my  imagination. 

His  last  minutes  were  as  clear  and  tranquil  as  all  his 
life.  He  had  lived  too  honestly  and  too  simply  for 
his  whole-souled  faith  in  a future,  heavenly  life  to  be 
shaken  at  such  a decisive  moment. 

“ Your  Honour,”  said  Nikolaev,  approaching  me,  “ you 
are  invited  to  take  tea  with  the  captain.” 

Making  my  way  between  the  stacked  arms  and  the 
fires,  I followed  Nikolaev  to  Bolkhov’s,  dreaming  with 
pleasure  of  a glass  of  hot  tea  and  a cheerful  conversation, 
which  would  drive  away  my  gloomy  thoughts.  “ Well, 
' 609 


510 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


have  you  found  him  ? ” was  heard  Bolkhdv’s  voice  from 
a corn-stalk  tent,  in  which  a candle  was  glimmering. 

“ I have  brought  him,  your  Honour ! ” was  NikoMev’s 
reply  in  a heavy  bass. 

In  the  booth,  Bolkhov  sat  on  a felt  mantle,  his  coat 
being  unbuttoned,  and  his  cap  off.  Near  him  a samovar 
was  boiling,  and  a drum  stood  with  a lunch  upon  it.  A 
bayonet,  with  a candle  on  it,  was  stuck  in  the  ground. 
“ Well,  how  do  you  like  this  ?”  he  said,  proudly,  survey- 
ing his  cosy  little  home.  Indeed,  the  booth  was  so  com- 
fortable, that  at  tea  I entirely  forgot  the  dampness,  the 
darkness,  and  Velenchuk’s  wound.  We  talked  about 
Moscow  and  about  objects  that  had  no  relation  whatso- 
ever to  the  war  and  to  the  Caucasus. 

After  one  of  those  minutes  of  silence,  which  frequently 
interrupt  the  most  animated  conversations,  Bolkhov 
glanced  at  me  with  a smile. 

“I  suppose  our  morning  conversation  must  have  ap- 
peared very  strange  to  you  ? ” he  said. 

“ No.  Why  should  it  ? All  I thought  was  that  you 
were  very  frank,  whereas  there  are  some  things  which  we 
all  know  but  which  one  ought  not  to  mention.” 

“ Not  at  all ! If  I had  a chance  of  exchanging  this 
life  for  a most  wretched  and  petty  life,  provided  it  were 
without  perils  and  service,  I should  not  consider  for  a 
minute.” 

“ Why  do  you  not  go  back  to  Russia  ? ” I said. 

“ Why  ? ” he  repeated.  “ Oh,  I have  been  thinking  of 
it  quite  awhile.  I cannot  return  to  Russia  before  receiv- 
ing the  Anna  and  the  Vladimir  crosses,  — the  Anna  deco- 
ration around  my  neck  and  a majorship,  as  I had  expected 
when  I came  out  here.” 

“ But  why  should  you,  when,  as  you  say,  you  feel  unfit 
for  the  service  here  ? ” 

“ But  I feel  myself  even  more  unfit  to  return  to  Russia 
in  the  condition  in  which  I left  it.  This  is  another  tradi- 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


511 


tioii,  current  in  Russia  and  confirmed  by  Passek,  Slyeptsdv, 
and  others,  that  all  one  has  to  do  is  to  come  to  the  Cau~ 
casus,  in  order  to  be  overwhelmed  with  rewards.  Every- 
body expects  and  demands  this  of  us ; and  here  I have  been 
two  years,  have  taken  part  in  two  expeditions,  and  have 
not  received  anything  yet.  I have  so  much  egotism  that 
I will  not  leave  this  place  until  I am  made  a major  with 
the  Vladimir  and  Anna  around  my  neck.  I have  got  so 
far  into  this,  that  nothing  will  mortify  me  so  much  as  to 
have  Gnilokishkin  get  this  promotion,  and  me  not  get 
one.  Then  again,  how  can  I show  up  in  Russia  before  my 
elder,  the  merchant  Kot^lnikov,  to  whom  I sell  my  grain, 
before  my  Moscow  aunt,  and  before  all  those  gentlemen, 
after  two  years  in  the  Caucasus,  without  any  advance- 
ment ? It  is  true,  I do  not  care  to  know  these  gentle- 
men, and,  no  doubt,  they  care  very  little  for  me ; and  yet 
a man  is  so  built  that,  although  he  does  not  care  one  bit 
for  such  gentlemen,  he  wastes  the  best  years,  the  whole 
happiness  of  his  life,  and  his  whole  future  on  account  of 
them  ” 


XL 

Just  then  the  voice  of  the  commander  of  the  battalion 
was  heard  outside  the  tent : “ With  whom  are  you  there, 
Nikolay  Fedorovich  ? ” 

Bolkhov  gave  him  my  name,  and  thereupon  three 
officers  entered  the  booth:  Major  Kirsanov,  the  adjutant 
of  his  battalion,  and  the  captain,  Tros4nko. 

Kirsanov  was  a short,  plump  man,  with  a black  mous- 
tache, ruddy  cheeks,  and  sparkling  eyes.  His  small  eyes 
were  the  most  prominent  feature  of  his  face.  Whenever 
he  laughed,  all  there  was  left  of  them  were  two  moist 
little  stars,  and  these  stars,  together  with  his  stretched 
lips  and  craning  neck,  assumed  a very  strange  expression 
of  blankness.  Kirsanov  conducted  himself  in  the  army 
better  than  anybody  else ; his  inferiors  did  not  speak  ill 
of  him,  and  his  superiors  respected  him,  although  the 
common  opinion  was  that  he  was  exceedingly  dull.  He 
knew  his  duties,  was  exact  and  zealous,  always  had 
money,  kept  a carriage  and  a cook,  and  very  naturally 
knew  how  to  pretend  that  he  was  proud. 

“ What  are  you  chatting  about,  Nikolay  Fedorovich  ?” 
he  said,  upon  entering. 

“ About  the  amenities  of  the  service  in  the  Caucasus.” 

But  just  then  Kirsanov  noticed  me,  a yunker,  and,  to 
let  me  feel  his  importance,  he  asked,  as  though  not  hear- 
ing Bolkhov’s  answer,  and  glancing  at  the  drum : 

“ Are  you  tired,  Nikolay  Fedorovich  ? ” 

“ No,  we  — ” Bolkhov  began. 

512 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


513 


But  again  the  dignity  of  the  commander  of  the  bat- 
talion seemed  to  demand  that  he  should  interrupt  and 
propose  a new  question. 

“ Was  it  not  a fine  engagement  we  had  to-day  ? ” 

The  adjutant  of  the  battalion  was  a young  ensign,  who 
had  but  lately  been  promoted  from  yunker,  — a modest 
and  quiet  lad,  with  a bashful  and  good-naturedly  pleasant 
face.  I had  seen  him  before  at  Bolkhov’s.  The  young 
man  used  to  call  on  him  often,  when  he  would  bow,  take 
a seat  in  the  corner,  for  hours  roll  cigarettes  and  smoke 
them  in  silence,  get  up  again,  salute,  and  walk  away.  He 
was  a type  of  a poor  Russian  yeoman,  who  had  selected 
the  military  career  as  the  only  possible  one  with  his  cul- 
ture, and  who  placed  the  calling  of  an  officer  higher  than 
anything  else  in  the  world,  — a simple-hearted,  pleasing 
type  in  spite  of  its  ridiculous  inseparable  appurtenances, 
the  tobacco-pouch,  the  dressing-gown,  the  guitar,  and  the 
moustache  brush,  with  which  we  are  accustomed  to  con- 
nect it.  They  told  of  him  in  the  army  that  he  had  boasted 
of  being  just,  but  severe  with  his  orderly,  that  he  had 
said,  “I  rarely  punish,  but  when  I am  provoked  they 
had  better  look  out,”  and  that,  when  his  drunken  orderly 
had  stolen  a number  of  things  of  him  and  had  even 
begun  to  insult  him,  he  had  brought  him  to  the  guard- 
house, and  ordered  him  to  be  chastised,  but  that  when  he 
saw  the  preparations  for  the  punishment,  he  so  completely 
lost  his  composure  that  he  was  able  only  to  say,  “ Now, 
you  see  — I can  — ” and  that  in  utter  confusion  he  ran 
home,  and  never  again  was  able  to  look  straight  into  the 
eyes  of  his  Chernov.  His  comrades  gave  him  no  rest, 
and  teased  him  about  it,  and  I had  several  times  heard 
the  simple-minded  lad  deny  the  allegation,  and,  blushing 
up  to  his  ears,  insist  that  it  was  not  only  not  true,  but 
that  quite  the  opposite  was  the  fact. 

The  third  person,  Captain  Tros^nko,  was  an  old  Cau- 
casus soldier  in  the  full  sense  of  the  word,  that  is,  a man 


514 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


for  whom  the  company  which  he  was  commanding  had 
become  his  family,  the  fortress  where  the  staff  was  stationed 
his  home,  and  the  singers  his  only  amusement  in  life, 
— a man  for  whom  everything  which  was  not  the  Cau- 
casus was  worthy  of  contempt,  and  almost  undeserving 
belief ; but  everything  which  was  the  Caucasus  was 
divided  into  two  halves,  ours,  and  not  ours ; the  first 
he  loved,  the  second  he  hated  with  all  the  powers  of  his 
soul,  and,  what  is  most  important,  he  was  a man  of  tried, 
quiet  bravery,  rare  kindness  of  heart  in  relation  to  his 
comrades  and  inferiors,  and  of  an  aggravating  straight- 
forwardness and  even  rudeness  in  relation  to  adjutants 
and  bonjours , whom  he  for  some  reason  despised.  Upon 
entering  the  booth,  he  almost  pierced  the  roof  with  his 
head,  then  suddenly  lowered  it,  and  sat  down  on  the 
ground. 

“ Well  ?”  he  said,  and,  suddenly  noticing  my  unfamiliar 
face,  he  stopped,  gazing  at  me  with  his  turbid,  fixed 
glance. 

“ So,  what  were  you  talking  about  ? ” asked  the  major, 
taking  out  his  watch  and  looking  at  it,  though  I was 
firmly  convinced  that  there  was  no  need  for  his  doing  so. 

“ He  was  asking  me  why  I was  serving  here.” 

“Of  course,  NikoMy  Fedorovich  wants  to  distinguish 
himself  here,  and  then  go  back  home.” 

“Well,  you  tell  me,  Abram  Illch,  why  do  you  serve  in 
the  Caucasus  ? ” 

“ Because,  you  see,  in  the  first  place,  we  are  all  obliged 
to  serve.  What  ? ” he  added,  though  all  were  silent, 
“ Yesterday  I received  a letter  from  Russia,  Nikoldy 
Fedorovich,”  he  continued,  evidently  desiring  to  change 
the  subject.  “They  write  to  me  — they  make  such 
strange  inquiries.” 

“ What  inquiries  ? ” asked  Bolkhdv. 

He  laughed. 

“ Really,  strange  questions  — they  want  to  know 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


515 


whether  there  can  be  any  jealousy  without  love  — 
What  ? ” he  asked,  looking  at  all  of  us. 

“ I say  ! ” said  Bolkhdv,  smiling. 

“ Yes,  you  see,  it  is  good  in  Russia,”  he  continued,  as 
though  his  phrases  naturally  proceeded  each  from  the 
previous  one.  “ When  I was  in  Tambov  in  ’52,  I was 
everywhere  received  like  an  aid-de-camp.  Will  you 
believe  me,  at  the  governor’s  ball,  when  I entered,  don’t 
you  know,  I was  beautifully  received.  The  wife  of  the 
governor,  you  know,  talked  with  me  and  asked  me  about 
the  Caucasus,  and  all  — really  I did  not  know  — They 
looked  at  my  gold  sabre  as  at  a rarity,  and  they  asked 
me  what  I got  the  sabre  for,  and  for  what  the  Anna 
cross,  and  for  what  the  Vladimir  cross,  and  I told  them  — 
What  ? — This  is  what  the  Caucasus  is  good  for,  Nikolay 
Fedorovich!”  he  continued,  not  waiting  for  an  answer. 
“ There  they  look  at  us,  Caucasus  officers,  very  well. 
Young  man,  you  know,  a staff-officer  with  an  Anna  and 
a Vladimir  cross,  — that  means  a great  deal  in  Russia  — 
What  ? ” 

“ I suppose  you  did  a little  bragging,  Abram  Ilich  ? ” 
said  Bolkhov. 

“ He-he ! ” he  laughed  his  stupid  smile.  “ You  know 
one  must  do  that.  And  I did  feast  during  those  two 
months ! ” 

“ Is  it  nice  there,  in  Russia  ? ” asked  Trosenko,  inquir- 
ing about  Russia  as  though  it  were  China  or  Japan. 

“Yes,  it  was  an  awful  lot  of  champagne  we  drank 
during  those  two  months  ! ” 

“ I don’t  believe  it.  You  must  have  drunk  lemonade. 
If  I had  been  there,  I would  have  burst  drinking,  just  to 
show  them  how  officers  of  the  Caucasus  drink.  My  repu- 
tation would  not  be  for  nothing.  I would  have  showed 
them  how  to  drink  — Hey,  Bolkhov  ? ” he  added. 

“ But  you,  uncle,  have  been  for  ten  years  in  the 
Caucasus,”  said  Bolkhdv,  “ and  do  you  remember 


516 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


what  Ermoldv  said?  And  Abram  Ilich  has  been  only 
six  — ” 

“ Ten  years  ? It  is  nearly  sixteen.” 

“ Bolkhov,  let  us  have  some  of  your  sage.  It  is  damp, 
brrrr ! Hey  ? ” he  added,  smiling.  “ Let  us  have  a 
drink,  major!” 

But  the  major  was  dissatisfied  with  the  first  remarks 
of  the  old  captain,  and  now  was  even  more  mortified,  and 
sought  a refuge  in  his  own  grandeur.  He  tuned  a song, 
and  again  looked  at  his  watch. 

“I  will  never  travel  to  Russia,”  continued  Tros^nko, 
paying  no  attention  to  the  frowning  major.  “ I have 
forgotten  how  to  walk  and  talk  like  a Russian.  They 
will  say.  ‘What  monster  is  this  that  has  arrived/  I say, 
this  is  Asia.  Is  it  not  so,  Nikolay  Fedorovich?  What 
am  I to  do  in  Russia?  All  the  same,  I shall  be  shot 
some  day  here.  They  will  ask,  ‘ Where  is  Tros^nko  ? ’ 
Shot.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  eighth  com- 
pany— eh?”  he  added,  addressing  the  major  all  the 
time. 

“ Send  the  officer  of  the  day  along  the  battalion ! ” 
shouted  Kirsanov,  without  replying  to  the  captain, 
though  I was  again  convinced  that  he  had  no  orders 
to  give. 

“ I suppose  you  are  glad,  young  man,  that  you  are 
receiving  double  pay  now  ? ” said  the  major,  after  a few 
minutes’  silence,  to  the  adjutant  of  the  battalion. 

“ Of  course,  very  much  so.” 

“I  find  that  our  pay  is  now  very  large,  Nikolay 
Fedorovich,”  he  continued.  “A  young  man  can  live 

quite  decently,  and  even  allow  himself  some  luxuries.” 

“ No,  really,  Abram  Ilich,”  timidly  said  the  adjutant, 
“ though  the  pay  is  double,  yet  — one  must  keep  a 
horse  — ” 

“ Don’t  tell  me  that,  young  man  ! I have  myself  been 
an  ensign,  and  I know.  Believe  me,  one  can  live,  with 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE , FOREST 


517 


proper  care.  Now,  figure  up,”  he  added,  bending  the  little 
finger  of  his  left  hand. 

“We  take  all  our  pay  in  advance,  — so  here  is  your 
calculation,”  said  Trosenko,  swallowing  a wine-glass  of 
brandy. 

“ Well,  what  do  you  want  for  that  — What  ? ” 

At  this  moment  a white  head  with  a flat  nose  was 
thrust  through  the  opening  of  the  booth,  and  a sharp 
voice  with  a German  accent  said : 

“ Are  you  here,  Abram  Ilich  ? The  officer  of  the  day 
is  looking  for  you.” 

“ Come  in,  Kraft ! ” said  Bolkhov. 

A long  figure  in  the  coat  of  the  general  staff  squeezed 
through  the  door,  and  began  to  press  everybody’s  hands 
with  great  fervour. 

“ Ah,  dear  captain ! you  are  here,  too  ? ” he  said, 
addressing  Tros4nko. 

The  new  guest,  in  spite  of  the  darkness,  made  his  way 
toward  him,  and  to  the  captain’s  great  surprise  and  dissat- 
isfaction, as  I thought,  kissed  his  lips. 

“ This  is  a German  who  wants  to  be  a good  comrade,” 
I thought. 


XIL 


My  supposition  was  soon  confirmed.  Captain  Kraft 
asked  for  some  brandy,  calling  it  by  its  popular  name, 
and  clearing  his  throat  terribly,  and  throwing  back  his 
head,  drained  the  wine-glass. 

"Well,  gentlemen,  we  have  crisscrossed  to-day  over 
the  plains  of  the  Chechnya,”  he  began,  but,  upon  noticing 
the  officer  of  the  day,  he  grew  silent,  so  as  to  give  the 
major  a chance  to  give  his  orders. 

“ Well,  have  you  inspected  the  cordon  ? ” 

“ I have,  sir.” 

“ Have  the  ambushes  been  sent  out  ? ” 

“ They  have  been,  sir.” 

“ Then  communicate  the  order  to  the  commanders  of 
the  companies  to  be  as  cautious  as  possible ! ” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

The  major  closed  his  eyes  and  became  thoughtful. 

“ Tell  the  people  that  they  may  now  cook  their  grits.” 

“ They  are  cooking  them  now.” 

“ Very  well.  You  may  go.” 

“ Well,  we  were  figuring  out  what  an  officer  needed,” 
continued  the  major,  with  a condescending  smile,  address- 
ing us.  “ Let  us  figure  out ! ” 

“ You  need  one  uniform  and  a pair  of  trousers.  Is  it 
not  so  ? ” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ Let  us  call  it  fifty  roubles  for  two  years  ; consequently, 
this  makes  twenty-five  roubles  a year  for  clothes  ; then  for 
board  forty  kopeks  a day.  Is  that  right  ? ” 

518 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


519 


“ Yes  ; it  is  even  too  much.” 

“ Well,  let  us  suppose  it.  Then,  for  the  horse  with  th6 
saddle  for  the  remount,  thirty  roubles,  — that  is  all.  That 
makes  in  all  twenty-five,  and  one  hundred  and  twenty, 
and  thirty,  equal  to  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  roubles. 
There  is  still  left  enough  for  luxuries,  for  tea  and  sugar, 
and  for  tobacco,  — say  twenty  roubles.  Don’t  you  see  ? 
Am  I right,  Nikolay  Fedorovich?” 

“ No,  excuse  me,  Abram  Ilich  !”  timidly  remarked  the 
adjutant.  “ Nothing  will  be  left  for  tea  and  sugar.  You 
figure  one  pair  for  two  years,  whereas  in  these  expeditions 
you  can’t  get  enough  pantaloons.  And  the  boots  ? I wear 
out  a pair  almost  every  month.  Then  the  underwear, 
the  shirts,  the  towels,  the  sock-rags,  all  these  have  to  be 
bought.  Count  it  up  and  nothing  will  be  left.  Upon  my 
word,  it  is  so,  Abram  Ilich.” 

“Yes,  it  is  fine  to  wear  sock-rags,”  Kraft  suddenly 
remarked  after  a moment’s  silence,  with  special  delight 
pronouncing  the  word  “ sock-rags.”  “ You  know  it  is  so 
simple,  so  Russian  ! ” 

“ I will  tell  you  something,”  said  Trosfoko.  “ Count  as 
you  may,  it  will  turn  out  that  we  fellows  ought  to  be 
shelved,  whereas  in  reality  we  manage  to  live,  and  to 
drink  tea,  and  to  smoke  tobacco,  and  to  drink  brandy. 
After  you  have  served  as  long  as  I have,”  he  continued, 
addressing  the  ensign,  “ you  will  learn  how  to  get  along. 
Do  you  know,  gentlemen,  how  he  treats  his  orderly  ?” 
And  Tros^nko,  almost  dying  with  laughter,  told  us  the 
whole  story  of  the  ensign  with  his  orderly,  although  we 
had  heard  it  a thousand  times  before. 

“ My  friend,  what  makes  you  look  like  a rose  ? ” he 
continued,  addressing  the  ensign,  who  was  blushing,  per- 
spiring, and  smiling  so  that  it  was  a pity  to  look  at  him. 

“ Never  mind,  I was  just  like  you,  and  yet  I have 
turned  out  to  be  a fine  fellow.  You  let  a young  fellow 
from  Russia  get  down  here,  — we  have  seen  some  of  them, 


520 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


— and  he  will  get  spasms  and  rheumatism,  and  all  such 
things  ! But  I am  settled  here,  — here  is  my  house,  my 
bed,  and  everything.  You  see  — ” 

Saying  which,  he  drained  another  wine-glass  of  brandy. 

“ Ah ! ” he  added,  looking  fixedly  into  Kraft’s  eyes. 

“ This  is  what  I respect ! This  is  a genuine  old  Cau- 
casus officer  ! Let  me  have  your  hand  ! ” 

Kraft  pushed  us  all  aside,  made  his  way  toward  Tro- 
s^nko,  and,  grasping  his  hand,  shook  it  with  much  feeling. 

“ Yes,  we  may  say  that  we  have  experienced  everything 
here,”  he  continued.  “ In  the  year  ’45  — you  were  there, 
captain  ? — do  you  remember  the  night  of  the  12th 
which  we  passed  knee-deep  in  the  mud  and  how  the  next 
day  we  went  into  the  abatis  ? I was  then  attached  to  the 
commander-in-chief,  and  we  took  fifteen  abatises  in  one 
day.  Do  you  remember  it,  captain  ? ” 

Trosenko  made  a sign  of  confirmation  with  his  head, 
and  closed  his  eyes,  and  protruded  his  lower  lip. 

“ So  you  see  — ” began  Kraft,  with  much  animation, 
and  making  inappropriate  gestures  while  addressing  the 
major. 

But  the  major,  who  no  doubt  had  heard  the  story  more 
than  once,  suddenly  looked  with  such  dim,  dull  eyes  at 
his  interlocutor  that  Kraft  turned  away  from  him  and 
addressed  Bolkhov  and  me,  glancing  now  at  one,  now  at 
the  other.  At  Trosenko  he  did  not  once  look  during  his 
recital. 

“ So  you  see,  when  we  went  out  in  the  morning,  the 
commander-in-chief  said  to  me,  ‘ Kraft,  take  the  abatises  ! 9 
You  know,  our  military  service  demands  obedience  with- 
out reflection,  — so,  hand  to  the  visor,  ‘ Yes,  your  Excel- 
lency ! ’ and  off  I went.  When  we  reached  the  first  abatis 
I turned  around  and  said  to  the  soldiers,  ‘ Boys,  courage ! 
Look  sharp  ! He  who  lags  behind  will  be  cut  down  by 
my  own  hand/  With  a Russian  soldier,  you  know,  you 
must  speak  plainly.  Suddenly  — a shell.  I looked,  one 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOBEST 


521 


soldier,  another  soldier,  a third,  then  bullets  — whizz ! 
whizz  ! whizz  ! Says  I,  ‘ Forward,  boys,  after  me  ! ’ No 
sooner  had  we  reached  it,  you  know,  we  looked,  and  there 
I saw  that  — you  know  — what  do  you  call  it  ? ” and  the 
narrator  waved  his  arms  in  his  attempt  to  find  the  proper 
word. 

“ A ditch,”  Bolkhdv  helped  him  out. 

“No  — ah,  what  is  it  called?  My  God!  Well,  what 
is  it?  — a ditch,”  he  said,  hurriedly.  “We,  * Charge 
bayonets ! ’ — Hurrah  ! Ta-ra-ta-ta-ta  ! Not  a soul  of  the 
enemy.  You  know  we  were  all  surprised.  Very  well. 
We  marched  ahead,  — the  second  abatis.  That  was  an- 
other matter.  We  were  now  on  our  mettle.  No  sooner 
did  we  walk  up  than  we  saw,  I observed,  the  second 
abatis,  — impossible  to  advance.  Here  — what  do  you 
call  it,  well,  what  is  that  name  ? — ah,  what  is  it  ? — ” 

“ Again  a ditch,”  I helped  him  out. 

“ Not  at  all,”  he  continued,  excitedly.  “ No,  not  a 
ditch,  but  — well,  what  do  you  call  it  ? ” and  he  made  an 
insipid  gesture  with  his  hand.  “ Ah,  my  God ! What  do 
you  call  it  ? ” 

He  was  apparently  suffering  so  much  that  we  wanted 
to  help  him  out. 

“ Maybe  a river,”  said  Bolkhov. 

“ No,  simply  a ditch.  But  the  moment  we  went  up 
there  was  such  a fire,  a hell  — ” 

Just  then  somebody  asked  for  me  outside  the  tent.  It 
was  Maksimov.  Since  there  were  thirteen  other  abatises 
left  after  having  listened  to  the  varied  story  of  the  first 
two,  I was  glad  to  use  this  as  an  excuse  for  leaving  for 
my  platoon.  Tros^nko  went  out  with  me.  “ He  is  lying/' 
he  said  -to  me  after  we  had  walked  several  steps  away 
from  the  booth,  “ he  never  was  in  the  abatises,”  and  Tro- 
s4nko  laughed  so  heartily  that  I,  too,  felt  amused. 


XIII. 


It  was  dark  night,  and  the  fires  dimly  illuminated  the 
camp,  when  I,  having  put  everything  away,  walked  up  to 
my  soldiers.  A large  stump  was  glimmering  on  the  coals. 
Three  soldiers  only  were  sitting  around  it : Antdnov,  who 
was  turning  around  on  the  fire  a little  kettle  in  which 
hardtack  soaked  in  lard  was  cooking,  Zhdanov,  who  was 
thoughtfully  poking  the  ashes  with  a stick,  and  Chikin, 
with  his  eternally  unlighted  pipe.  The  others  had  already 
retired  for  their  rest,  some  under  the  caissons,  others  in 
the  hay,  and  others  again  around  the  fires.  In  the  faint 
light  of  coals  I could  distinguish  the  familiar  backs,  legs, 
and  heads ; among  the  latter  was  also  the  recruit,  who 
was  lying  close  to  the  fire  and  was  apparently  asleep. 
Antonov  made  a place  for  me.  I sat  down  near  him  and 
lighted  my  pipe.  The  mist  and  the  pungent  smoke  from 
the  green  wood  was  borne  through  the  air,  and  made  my 
eyes  smart,  and  the  same  damp  mist  drizzled  down  from 
the  murky  sky. 

Near  us  could  be  heard  the  even  snoring,  the  crackling 
of  the  branches  in  the  fire,  a light  conversation,  and  occa- 
sionally the  clattering  of  the  infantry  muskets.  All  about 
us  glowed  the  fires,  illuminating  in  a small  circle  the 
black  shadows  of  the  soldiers.  At  the  nearest  fires  I 
could  distinguish  in  the  lighted  spaces  the  figures  of 
naked  soldiers  waving  their  shirts  over  the  very  fire. 
Many  other  men  were  not  asleep,  but  moving  about  and 
speaking  in  the  space  of  fifteen  square  fathoms ; but  the 
dark,  gloomy  night  gave  a peculiar,  mysterious  aspect  to 

522 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


523 


all  this  motion,  as  though  all  felt  this  melancholy  quiet 
and  were  afraid  to  break  its  tranquil  harmony.  When  I 
began  to  speak,  I felt  that  my  voice  sounded  quite  differ- 
ently ; in  the  faces  of  all  the  soldiers  who  were  sitting 
near  the  fire  I read  the  same  mood.  I thought  that  pre- 
vious to  my  arrival  they  had  been  speaking  of  their 
wounded  companion,  but  that  was  not  at  all  the  case: 
Chikin  was  telling  about  the  reception  of  goods  at  Tiflis, 
and  about  the  schoolboys  of  that  city. 

Always  and  everywhere,  but  especially  in  the  Caucasus, 
have  I noticed  the  peculiar  tact  of  our  soldiers,  who,  dur- 
ing peril,  pass  over  in  silence  and  avoid  all  such  things  as 
might  unhappily  affect  the  minds  of  their  comrades.  The 
spirit  of  the  Russian  soldiers  is  not  based,  like  the  bravery 
of  the  southern  nations,  on  an  easily  inflamed,  and  just  as 
easily  extinguished,  enthusiasm.  They  do  not  need  effects, 
speeches,  military  cries,  songs,  and  drums ; they  need,  on 
the  contrary,  quiet,  order,  and  the  absence  of  all  banality. 
In  Russian,  real  Russian,  soldiers,  you  will  never  observe 
vain  bragging,  posing,  a desire  to  obscure  themselves  and 
to  excite  themselves  in  time  of  danger ; on  the  contrary, 
modesty,  simplicity,  and  an  ability  to  see  in  a danger 
something  else  than  the  danger  itself,  are  the  distinctive 
features  of  their  character. 

I have  seen  an  outrider,  who  had  been  wounded  in  his 
leg,  in  the  first  moment  express  his  regrets  only  for  the 
torn  fur  coat,  and  then  creep  out  from  under  the  horse, 
which  had  been  killed  under  him,  and  loosen  the  straps, 
in  order  to  take  off  the  saddle.  Who  does  not  remember 
the  incident  at  the  siege  of  G&rgebel,  when  the  fuse  of  a 
bomb  which  had  just  been  filled  caught  fire  in  the  labora- 
tory, and  the  artificer  told  two  soldiers  to  take  the  bomb 
and  run  away  as  fast  as  possible,  in  order  to  throw  it 
into  a ditch ; the  soldiers  did  not  throw  it  away  in  the 
nearest  place,  which  was  not  far  from  the  colonel's  tent, 
which  stood  over  the  ditch,  but  carried  it  farther  away, 


524 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


not  to  wake  the  gentlemen  who  were  sleeping  in  the  tent, 
and  so  they  were  both  torn  to  pieces.  I remember  how, 
during  frontier  service  in  1852,  one  of  the  young  soldiers, 
for  some  reason,  remarked  during  an  action,  that  he 
thought  the  platoon  would  never  come  out  alive  from  it, 
and  how  the  whole  platoon  angrily  upbraided  him  for  such 
evil  words,  which  they  would  not  even  repeat. 

Even  now,  when  the  thought  of  Velenchuk  ought  to 
have  been  in  everybody’s  mind,  and  when  any  moment  a 
volley  might  be  fired  by  Tartars  creeping  up  to  the  camp, 
everybody  was  listening  to  Chikin’s  animated  story,  and 
nobody  recalled  the  action  of  the  morning,  nor  the  immi- 
nent danger,  nor  the  wounded  man,  as  though  all  that 
had  happened  God  knows  how  long  ago,  or  not  at  all. 
But  it  seemed  to  me  that  their  faces  were  a little  more 
melancholy  than  usual ; they  did  not  listen  very  atten- 
tively to  Chikin’s  story,  and  even  Chikin  felt  that  he  was 
not  listened  to,  and  kept  talking  from  mere  force  of  habit. 

Maksimov  went  up  to  the  fire  and  sat  down  near  me. 
Chikin  made  a place  for  him,  grew  silent,  and  again  started 
sucking  his  pipe. 

“ The  foot-soldiers  have  sent  to  camp  for  brandy,”  said 
Maksimov,  after  a considerable  silence.  “ They  have  just 
returned.”  He  spit  into  the  fire.  “ An  under-officer  told 
me  that  he  saw  our  man.” 

“ Well,  is  he  still  alive  ? ” asked  Antonov,  turning  his 
kettle. 

“ No,  he  is  dead.” 

The  recruit  in  the  small  red  cap  suddenly  raised  his 
head  above  the  fire,  for  a moment  looked  fixedly  at  Maksi- 
mov and  at  me,  then  swiftly  lowered  his  head,  and 
wrapped  himself  in  his  overcoat. 

“ You  see,  death  did  not  come  to  him  for  nothing  this 
morning,  as  I was  waking  him  in  the  park,”  said  Antdnov. 

“Nonsense!”  said  Zhdanov,  turning  around  a glowdng 
stump,  and  all  grew  silent. 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


525 


Amid  a universal  silence,  there  was  heard  a shot  behind 
us  in  the  camp.  Our  drummers  took  note  of  it,  and  gave 
the  tattoo.  When  the  last  roll  died  down,  Zhdanov  was 
the  first  to  rise ; he  took  off  his  cap,  and  we  all  followed 
his  example. 

Amid  the  deep  hush  of  the  night  was  heard  the  har- 
monious chorus  of  male  voices : 

“ Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven,  Hallo  wed  be  Thy 
name.  Thy  kingdom  come.  Thy  will  be  done,  as  in 
heaven,  so  in  earth.  Give  us  to-day  our  daily  bread. 
And  forgive  us  our  sins ; for  we  also  forgive  every  one 
that  is  indebted  to  us.  And  lead  us  not  into  temptation, 
but  deliver  us  from  evil.” 

“ It  was  in  the  year  ’45  that  one  of  our  men  was  con- 
tused in  the  same  spot,”  said  Antonov,  after  we  had  put 
on  our  caps,  and  had  seated  ourselves  again  at  the  fire. 
“ We  carried  him  for  two  days  on  the  ordnance  — Zhda- 
nov, do  you  remember  Shevchenko  ? We  left  him  there 
under  a tree.” 

Just  then  an  infantry  soldier,  with  immense  whiskers 
and  moustache,  and  wearing  his  cartridge-box,  walked 
over  to  us. 

“ Countrymen,  may  I have  some  fire  to  light  my  pipe 
with  ? ” he  said. 

“ Light  it,  there  is  plenty  of  fire  here,”  remarked  Chikin. 

“ Countryman,  you  are,  I suppose,  telling  about  Dargi,” 
the  foot-soldier  said,  turning  to  Antonov. 

“ Yes,  about  the  year  ’45,  at  Dargi,”  replied  Antonov. 

The  foot-soldier  shook  his  head,  closed  his  eyes,  and 
squatted  down  near  us. 

“ It  was  dreadful  there,”  he  remarked. 

“ Why  did  you  leave  him  ? ” I asked  of  Antdnov. 

“ He  had  terrible  pain  in  his  abdomen.  As  long  as  we 
stood  still,  it  was  all  right ; but  the  moment  wTe  moved,  he 
shrieked  terribly.  He  entreated  us  to  leave  him,  but 
we  pitied  him.  But  when  he  began  to  harass  us,  and 


526 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


had  killed  three  men  on  our  guns,  and  an  officer,  and  we 
had  gone  astray  from  our  battery,  it  was  terrible,  — we 
thought  we  should  never  get  the  gun  away.  It  was  so 
muddy.” 

“The  worst  was,  it  was  muddy  at  Indian  Mountain,” 
remarked  a soldier. 

“Well,  and  he  grew  worse!  Then  we  considered, — 
Andshenka  and  I,  — Anoshenka  was  an  old  gun-sergeant, 

— that  he  could  not  live  anyway,  and  that  he  invoked 
God  to  leave  him.  And  so  we  concluded  we  would  do 
so.  There  was  a branching  tree  growing  there.  We  put 
down  near  him  soaked  hardtack,  — Zhdanov  had  some, 

— and  leaned  him  against  the  tree ; we  put  a clean  shirt 
on  him,  bade  him  farewell,  as  was  proper,  and  left  him.” 

“ Was  he  a good  soldier  ? ” 

“ A pretty  good  one,”  remarked  Zhdanov. 

“ God  knows  what  became  of  him,”  continued  Antonov. 
“We  left  many  soldiers  there.” 

“ In  Dargi  ? ” said  the  foot-soldier,  rising  and  poking 
his  pipe,  and  again  closing  his  eyes  and  shaking  his  head. 
“ Yes,  it  was  terrible  there.” 

And  he  went  away  from  us. 

“ Are  there  many  soldiers  in  the  battery  who  have  been 
at  Dargi  ? ” I asked. 

“Well!  Zhdanov,  I,  Patsan,  who  is  now  on  leave  of 
absence,  and  six  or  seven  other  men.  That  is  all.” 

“ I wonder  whether  Patsan  is  having  a good  time  on 
his  leave  of  absence,”  said  Chikin,  stretching  out  his  legs 
and  putting  his  head  on  a log.  “ It  will  soon  be  a year 
since  he  left.” 

“ Did  you  take  the  annual  leave  ? ” I asked  Zhdanov. 

“No,  I did  not,”  he  answered,  reluctantly. 

“ But  it  is  good  to  go,”  said  Antdnov,  “ when  one  is 
from  a well-to-do  house,  or  still  able  to  work.  It  is 
pleasant,  and  people  at  home  are  glad  to  see  you.” 

“What  use  is  there  in  going,  when  there  are  tw$ 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


527 


brothers  ? ” continued  Zhdanov.  “ They  have  enough  to 
do  to  support  themselves,  so  what  good  would  one  of  us 
soldiers  be  to  them  ? A man  is  a poor  helper  when  he 
has  been  a soldier  for  twenty-five  years.  And  who  knows 
whether  they  are  alive  ? ” 

“ Have  you  not  written  to  them  ? ” I asked. 

“ Of  course  I have ! I have  written  them  twice,  but 
they  have  not  yet  answered.  They  are  either  dead,  or 
they  simply  don’t  care  to  answer,  which  means,  they  are 
poor,  and  have  no  time.” 

“ How  long  ago  did  you  write  ? ” 

“When  I came  back  from  Dargi,  I wrote  my  last 
letter ! ” 

“ Sing  the  song  of  the  ‘ Birch-tree/  ” Zhdanov  said  to 
Antdnov,  who,  leaning  on  his  knees,  was  humming  a song. 

Antonov  sang  the  “ Birch-tree  ” song. 

“ This  is  Uncle  Zhdanov’s  favourite  song,”  Chikin  said 
to  me  in  a whisper,  pulling  me  by  the  overcoat.  “ Many 
a time,  when  Filipp  Antdnych  sings  it,  he  weeps.” 

Zhdanov  sat  at  first  motionless,  his  eyes  directed  on 
the  glowing  coals,  and  his  face,  illuminated  by  the  reddish 
light,  looked  exceedingly  melancholy ; then  his  cheeks 
under  his  ears  began  to  move  faster  and  faster,  and  finally 
he  got  up,  spread  out  his  overcoat,  and  lay  down  in  the 
shadow,  behind  the  fire.  It  may  be  the  way  he  was  toss- 
ing and  groaning,  or  Velenchuk’s  death  and  the  gloomy 
weather  had  so  affected  me,  but  I really  thought  he  was 
crying. 

The  lower  part  of  the  stump,  changed  into  coal,  flickered 
now  and  then  and  illuminated  Antdnov’s  figure,  with  his 
gray  moustache,  red  face,  and  his  decorations  on  the  over- 
coat thrown  over  him,  or  lighted  up  somebody’s  boots  or 
head.  From  above,  drizzled  the  same  gloomy  mist;  in 
the  air  was  the  same  odour  of  dampness  and  smoke ; all 
around  me  were  seen  the  same  bright  points  of  dying 
fires,  and  were  heard  amid  a general  silence  the  sounds 


528 


THE  CUTTING  OF  THE  FOREST 


of  Antonov’s  melancholy  song ; and  whenever  it  stopped 
for  a moment,  its  refrain  was  the  sounds  of  the  faint  noc- 
turnal motion  of  the  camp,  of  the  snoring,  of  the  clatter- 
ing of  the  sentries’  guns,  and  of  subdued  conversation. 

“ Second  watch  ! Makatyuk  and  Zhdanov  ! ” shouted 
Maksimov. 

Antdnov  stopped  singing ; Zhdanov  rose,  sighed,  stepped 
across  a log,  and  slowly  walked  over  to  the  guns. 

June  15 , 1855. 


